


Thine Be the Gladness

by Melina



Series: Stanzas for Music [2]
Category: Highlander, The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Early Work, F/M, Romance, Schmoop, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-03-10
Updated: 1998-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melina/pseuds/Melina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A romance between an immortal and an FBI agent was bound to be complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a really long time ago. Yeah, that's meant to be a warning.

_Another incredibly long day. I miss Adam terribly, I want to go home...and this case is breaking my heart. Two weeks tracking this guy, we’re no closer to finding him now than we were then, and I’m a mess. Seven children, between the ages of six and eleven...dear God, one more body may be more than I can take. At least for once Mulder and I are here because of our conventional skills not because of an X-file connection. He’s assisting the profilers and I’m spending most of my time in forensic work. The progress is slow, and the whole team is tired and frustrated. We know that each day that goes by increases the chance of another victim. And where is my emotional detachment, anyway? I’m supposed to be a professional, but I am having the worst time trying to separate myself and not internalize everything about these children and their families._

_Have I mentioned how much I miss Adam? We talk every day, and I live for the sound of his voice on the phone, but it’s not enough. I want his arms around me, I want to feel his mouth on my skin, and I want to wake up next to him. Part of me is scared to death at how much I need him, how much I’ve come to rely on him in only four months. The rest of me doesn’t care, I just want to be with him..._

~~~~~~~

Amsterdam, the Netherlands

The woman revived with a sharp intake of breath. The first thing she felt was a wave of Immortal presence, and she sobbed. _Please God, no more, no more..._how many times had she died today? Her head snapped toward the door as it opened, and she tried not to cry out at the sight of her tormentor.

The tall, handsome man grinned at her. "Feeling better, dear Elisabeth?" He put the knife he was holding down on the table and walked towards her. He checked her bonds, ensuring that her hands were still firmly tied to the rope dangling from the ceiling beam. He traced his hand over her long blonde hair and around her face gently, almost affectionately, but his voice was cold and merciless. "Come now, my dear. If you tell me, I will end this and you can join your lover."

Her eyes were bright with pain as she remembered Stephen’s brutal death at the hands of this monster. Unlike her, he could only die once, but it had been slow, painful, and right in front of her. She had loved him so much. They had been together for eight years; a blink of an eye in an Immortal lifetime, but for her, the happiest years in a long time. In all her three hundred years, she had never been more heartbroken than at the sight of his torment. She would have been sorely tempted to do what her torturer asked, if she thought it would save Stephen. But she knew that she could not, that it was over when she failed to protect him, when they awoke as prisoners in this place.

Elisabeth’s natural spirit kicked in, if only briefly. "Go to hell, Coverdell," she spat. His face hardened, and he reached for the dagger, plunging it into her thigh in one swift and brutal movement. She cried out at the pain, willing it away, willing herself to stay conscious, but all the blood she had lost had not yet been replaced, and soon the edges of her vision blurred. Coverdell frowned as she once again went slack in her bonds.

_Bloody hell, _he thought. She really would endure this over and over to protect the man he sought. It had been six days of repeated cycles of torture and healing, and that was after he had slowly killed her lover before her eyes. Still, she would not break. Well, he wasn’t about to give up, not now, not when he was this close to his goal. A different approach was required, that was all. He wondered how difficult it would be to obtain sodium pentathol in Amsterdam.

~~~~~~~

Washington, D.C.

The man known to the world as Adam Pierson looked up from the exam paper he was grading and glanced out the window. A fine spring day that he should be enjoying, but he wasn’t. His lover was hundreds of miles away, chasing a serial kidnapper and murderer, for heaven’s sake, and he missed her terribly. And worried about her, despite her assurances that she was spending most of her time in the lab and at crime scenes rather than chasing the bastard. He was buried deep under Greek and Coptic essays, and the mere thought of reading the term papers from his grad seminar was completely unbearable at the moment. He had once told Dana that he taught for free, but took his salary in exchange for grading papers and, especially, final exams. He hadn’t been kidding.

_C’mon, old man, _he chided himself._ Life is good, you have a job you enjoy and a beautiful woman whom you adore in your life. Stop brooding because every little minute doesn’t go your way. _Deciding that the balmy sunshine of the mid-Atlantic spring might help pull him out of his funk, he snatched a clipboard off the shelf, attached a pile of Greek essays to it, and headed for the door. He could just as easily grade the damned things on the other side of the window.

~~~~~~~

Amsterdam

She was slack in her bonds, her entire world a fuzzy pink haze. The pain had gone away, replaced by a pleasant, almost blissful feeling on the surface, belied by a raging war in her soul, trying, trying so hard to resist...

Coverdell smiled. He had found the right dosage; she was coherent yet thoroughly under. He approached her, again stroking the long blonde hair that had once been soft and thick, and was now oily with perspiration and dirt.

"Come now, dear Elisabeth...let’s try this again. What color are the walls in this room?"

_Resist, _her soul screamed._ Resist with all that you are, do not betray him...tell him that the walls are green. The walls are green, green, green... _"Wh...white." she answered, the words slightly slurred. The scream inside her quieted, acknowledging defeat at long last.

He smiled again. "Very good, dear Elisabeth. I am so pleased." She smiled dreamily in response. "Now...let’s talk about Matthew."

"Matthew..." _Matthew, I love you so much..._

"Yes, Matthew. When was the last time you saw him?"

_Matthew...I’m so sorry... _"About...ten years ago."

"And where did you see him?"

"Paris. Lovely Paris."

Coverdell smiled, certain that she was telling the truth. "What name was he using in Paris?" She paused, and frowned. He tightened angrily, refusing to let her consider resistance. He forced himself to soften his voice. "Just tell me his name, Elisabeth, and this will all be over..."

Over...she so wanted this to be over. _Matthew, please forgive me, my love, my dearest friend. _"Adam..." her voice was dreamy, slurred. "His name was Adam Pierson..."

Coverdell smiled triumphantly. His prey had eluded him for three hundred years, but now he knew the name he was using just a decade ago. He could, he would, find him now. Matthew would pay, as Elisabeth had, perhaps even more painfully. First, he would keep his promise to this wretched bitch and end her misery. He went to get his sword.

Her vision was blurred and she could no longer see clearly, whether it was the drugs or her own tears she did not know. Elisabeth knew at a subconscious level that her life was over, that her words had signed her own death warrant. She sobbed, struggling in her bonds when she heard him reenter the room. _Matthew..._ She died moments later, hating herself for her betrayal; her last thought the bitter regret that she would be responsible for his death, too.

~~~~~~~

Washington, D.C.  
One week later

Methos was sprawled across his sofa, slogging through term papers, when he felt the tingle of Immortal presence. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He stood, and walked toward the door, stopping to pick up his sword. A firm knock was quickly followed by a familiar, muffled voice. "Adam, it’s me." He opened the door to admit the Highlander, who smiled and dropped his duffel bag and sword case in the entryway.

"MacLeod...it’s nice to see you, but what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, relaxing his sword arm and examining his visitor with a practiced gaze.

MacLeod shrugged noncommittally. "Paris in June, who needs it. Got a bit restless, just thought I’d come see a friend." He looked around. "Is Dana here?"

Methos looked at him suspiciously, one eyebrow raised. "No, she’s not, and you’d think in four hundred years you would have learned to lie a bit more convincingly, MacLeod. What’s going on?"

Duncan dropped the pretense that he had flown in from Paris for a casual visit. "How about a drink, and I’ll tell you."

Methos regained his manners, realizing that MacLeod had just flown three thousand miles to see him, and that he was probably tired and jet-lagged. He laid down his broadsword and went into the kitchen. "Sorry, Mac...make yourself at home, and I’ll see if there’s any Scotch left from your last visit."

MacLeod shrugged out of his lightweight spring duster, and settled on the couch. "So, Dana busy tonight?" He called to Methos through the partition in the kitchen counter.

"No, she’s out of town...Atlanta, now, I think, working a case. She’s been away almost three weeks, though she was back overnight once."

"What kind of case?"

"A serial kidnapper and child murderer, Mac. The whole thing’s dreadful...seven kids in four states. It’s wearing on her and I miss her dreadfully." He carried a plate of French bread and cheese along with a glass of scotch for MacLeod and a beer for himself into the living room. He set the food down on the coffee table, handed the glass to MacLeod and sprawled over a wing chair, gazing across the table at his visitor.

Duncan smiled his thanks as he took the glass, his voice sympathetic. "That does sound awful. What a tough job."

Methos nodded. "She has more mental toughness than most thousand year old Immortals I’ve met, Mac." He paused and looked over at his friend. "So, what’s going on." It was more of a statement than a question.

MacLeod looked up at him. "Someone named Paul Coverdell has been asking questions about you in Paris."

Methos didn’t answer him verbally, and MacLeod was unprepared for the violent emotional response the name caused. Although his friend’s face remained placid, MacLeod felt Methos’ reaction through the empathic connection they had shared since the twinned Quickenings of Kronos and Silas. MacLeod had only experienced Methos’ emotions this way once before, and it hadn’t been nearly as intense. And the emotion he was perceiving from Methos surprised him...was it fear? It was...a level of fear approaching terror, and it felt like he had been punched in the chest. "Jesus, Methos...who _is _this guy?"

Methos didn’t answer. He could tell from Mac’s wide eyes that his friend was picking up his emotions, but at the moment he didn’t care. "Tell me everything," he demanded.

MacLeod took a deep breath, focusing himself in an attempt to block the emotions his friend was projecting. "Joe called yesterday. He said that someone had been asking questions about you around Paris, and had found some of your Watcher acquaintances. They called Joe because they knew you were good friends with him. He found out his name was Coverdell..." Mac paused again as another wave of emotion hit him at the mention of the man’s name. "...because the Watcher of an Immortal who’s head he’d taken a few days ago reported in..."

Methos nearly leapt across the coffee table at him. "WHO?!"

"Methos, what the hell is wrong with you? Who is he?"

"MacLeod, tell me whose head he took! Now!"

"She was living in Amsterdam under the name Lisa de Sie, but according to Joe her real name was Elisabeth van der Merwe..."

Methos sank back on the couch beside MacLeod, and turned away, burying his face in his hands. MacLeod felt a new wave of emotion, but this time it was sorrow, sadness so painful that he felt his heart would break in sympathy. He had never seen Methos react so emotionally to anything, not even Alexa’s death. Suddenly, he realized that Methos’ fear wasn’t for himself, but for the woman he now knew was dead. MacLeod knew this wasn’t the moment for questions; whoever she was, she had been important to his friend. He reached toward his friend’s hunched back, gripping one shoulder tightly, trying to provide support and comfort. The older man shuddered violently, but didn’t make a sound. To MacLeod, the silence was eerie, almost unreal.

Long minutes later, MacLeod stood and went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of Scotch for the older man. He brought the bottle back into the living room with him, and handed Methos a Kleenex from a box on the desk. Methos looked up at him gratefully, accepting both. He wiped his reddened eyes and tossed back the Scotch, pouring another. MacLeod could still feel every emotion flowing through his friend, intense grief deepened by a nearly murderous anger.

MacLeod sat back down on the sofa. "Who was she, Methos?" he asked softly.

Methos looked at him, his eyes red. "She was a good friend, Duncan, a very good friend. She was also my last living student," _since you killed Byron,_ "and my lover for almost thirty years."

"I know it doesn’t help, but I’m truly sorry."

Methos tossed back another glass of scotch. "So am I." He paused. "Coverdell’s going to be truly sorry, once I find him."

MacLeod let that pass for the moment. "I take it the three of you had a history?"

Methos wasn’t really ready to take this stroll down memory lane, but perhaps remembering her would temper the grief. He nodded slowly. "I met Elisabeth in Cape Town, around the end of the seventeenth century..."

~~~~~~~

Cape Town, Africa  
1695

Methos smiled and tipped his hat at an attractive pair of ladies as he sauntered through the streets of Cape Town. He had only been here for three months, yet he had already decided that he liked it enough to stay for awhile. Esthetically, it was one of the prettiest spots he had seen in a long while. Majestic Table Mountain dominated the landscape, looming high above the seaside village. The town itself was small, but it seemed to be growing every day. Founded just forty years earlier as a port for the East India Company, Cape Town was quickly becoming a major way station on the nautical trade route between Europe and China.

Methos had established himself here as "Dr. Matthew Benjamin." Despite the wariness of the Dutch settlers toward outsiders, he had quickly found himself embraced by the community, which was in desperate need of another doctor. He had located quarters for himself in the central part of town, working in the two front rooms and living in the large kitchen and small bedroom located at the rear of the building. As often as not, he would be away from the office, riding into the surrounding countryside on house visits, doing everything from delivering babies to treating those too ill or injured to come into town. The community had also absorbed him into their social life, especially once they learned he spoke fluent Dutch, and he usually enjoyed dinner as the guest of one household or another several times a week. He sometimes found himself turning down invitations just to reserve some time to himself.

He walked back toward the office, enjoying the warm January sunshine. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be used to the reversed seasons, but he wasn’t about to question the good weather. Methos approached his building, the presence of a wagon in front with the horses still hitched indicating that someone was waiting inside for him. As he hurried up the steps, he stopped dead in his tracks, feeling the faint signature of a pre-Immortal. He pushed open the door to find two people in his waiting room.

A young, blonde woman, emanating the signature he’d felt moments earlier, stood as he entered. "Oh, doctor, I’m so glad your back...my father..."

Methos walked towards the m`an who was sprawled on a waiting bench, obviously in pain. His foot was wrapped in rags, bleeding and injured. "Help me get him inside," he said to the girl.

Together, they brought the older man into the examining room, and settled him on the table. Methos dropped onto a low stool and unwrapped the foot, examining it. He looked at his visitors and smiled reassuringly. "I’m Dr. Benjamin, by the way."

"Oh, I’m sorry," the girl said. "I didn’t mean to be rude, I was just worried..."

"I understand." He smiled at her before returning his attention to his patient. Elisabeth, from his cursory assessment, was perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, and extremely beautiful. A slim, delicate build, beautiful blue eyes set off by pale skin, and long, blonde hair that flowed to her waist, restrained by a ribbon. "What’s your name?"

"Oh, I’m sorry," she said again, blushing. "I’m Elisabeth van der Merwe, and this is my father, Pieter." She was holding the old man’s hand.

After cleaning the blood away, Methos probed the foot gently. "Can you tell me what happened, Mr. van der Merwe?" he asked. He wanted to gauge the effects of the blood loss on his patient as much as he wanted to hear the story.

"Ach," said the man. "I fell off a ladder, cut my foot on an axe left under it." Like many of the Dutch farmers, Mr. van der Merwe appeared to be a man of few words.

Methos continued his gentle examination. "It doesn’t seem to be broken...please tell me if this hurts." The farmer shook his head. Methos nodded and looked at Elisabeth. "I’m going to bind it up, it’s a sprain, but it’s very important that he stay off it for a few days."

She nodded. "I’ll try..."

He looked at his patient, effecting a stern expression. "Mr. van der Merwe, it’s very important that you mind what I’m telling you, or it will become worse and you’ll be kept off it for more than a few days. Understand?"

"Yes, Doctor."

Methos looked at Elisabeth. "Can you and your mother manage with him in bed for a few days?"

She dropped her eyes. "It’s only me and my father, doctor, but yes, I’ll manage."

He finished binding the wound, regretting that he had raised an obviously difficult topic. "Well, I’ll look in on you, all right? Do you have someone who can help you get him in the house when you get home?"

She nodded, and went to her father’s side to help him stand. Methos helped them outside to their wagon, settling the farmer in the back. She sat in the driver’s seat, and smiled at him. "Thank you for your help, doctor."

"My pleasure, Miss van der Merwe. I’ll check in on you tomorrow." He asked for and received directions to their farm, and watched as she pulled away, ably directing the horses.

~~~~~~~

"Even though I knew what she was, what she would be, I can’t deny that I was attracted to her from that first day. She was so beautiful, open, and high-spirited." He paused, gazing into his glass. The phone rang, shaking him out of his reverie. MacLeod was closer, and he looked at Methos questioningly. He nodded, and MacLeod reached over to answer.

"Hello?" He paused to listen, looking over at his friend as he recognized the caller. "Hi, Dana, it’s Duncan MacLeod." Methos looked up. "No, he wasn’t expecting me either...I’m well, and you? I hear you’re busy..." He listened a moment. "Adam’s dying to talk to you. One second." He handed the phone to his friend.

"Hello, sweet lady...yes, it’s lovely to have friends who just drop in from Paris, isn’t it? Where are you?" He paused, listening, and dropped his eyes. "I’m so sorry, love...Jacksonville? Okay, one second..." He looked around for a pen and something to write on. "Go ahead...got it." He dropped the paper and pen on the table. "I know, I miss you terribly...no, I’m all right. Duncan brought some bad news about an old friend, is all." He paused again. "Yes, a very old friend. Nothing for you to worry about...just focus on your case, solve it and come home...okay. I’ll call you tomorrow, then. Be careful...love you."

Methos pushed the "off" button and handed the phone back to MacLeod. "There was another murder. Florida." He sighed. "Damn, I miss her."

"She’s doing important work, Methos."

"I know it, Mac. But it doesn’t make the separation any easier."

MacLeod nodded in agreement, recalling how much missed Tessa every time they were separated for even a few days. He stared into his glass, letting the loss engulf him for a moment before turning his attention back to his friend. "So, what happened after you met Elisabeth?"

Methos leaned back into the sofa, his eyes far away as he remembered.


	2. Chapter 2

She saw him coming and came out to greet him. He smiled at her, dismounting the horse and hitching it to the post.

"Hello, Elisabeth!" he hailed. She waved back at him. "How’s your father today?"

She walked down the porch steps to meet him. "Much better, Doctor! But he’s too impatient to get out of bed."

It had been three days since the van der Merwes had walked into his office. Methos had visited each day, checking his patient, but also getting to know the young pre-Immortal in the process. He had decided to keep an eye on her. She was probably safe here--he had not encountered another Immortal in Cape Town--but that was no guarantee. Ships arrived every day. He didn’t especially want a student, either--he had avoided that responsibility for more than six hundred years. Yet, he felt compelled to watch out for her, to try to keep her safe and out of the Game for as long as possible.

He smiled at her. "Well, we’ll just have to help him regain his patience for a few more days, won’t we? If he reinjures it, he’ll be worse off than he was before." He followed her into the farmhouse’s front room, removing his low-brimmed hat as he entered and handing it to her. The van der Merwe farmhouse was like most of the homes surrounding Cape Town--single-story, with long, wide family areas and much smaller bedrooms.

"Why don’t you let me examine him alone? I’ll impress the importance of a few more days’ rest on him, don’t worry."

She nodded. "Thank you, doctor."

He returned a few minutes later. His patient was progressing satisfactorily and should be on his feet again in a few days. Elisabeth, on the other hand, looked pale and drawn. The pressure of running the farm and caring for her father was beginning to wear her down. "Why don’t we take a walk?" he suggested. He interrupted the beginning of her attempt to demur with protests of too much work to do. "Ah, doctor’s orders. You need the sunshine."

She finally smiled, handing him his hat and taking hers from its hook, and followed him outside. They walked down the entry lane, pausing for a moment as Elisabeth stopped to confer with one of the farm hands. "Sorry," she apologized.

"That’s all right," he smiled. They continued down the lane and then started across the farm on a narrow footpath, which led to a stream. They strolled together companionably, discussing her father, and Cape Town gossip. She stopped at a bend in the stream, sinking onto the soft grass beside it. Methos sat next to her, picking up stones and attempting to skim them in the too-narrow waterway.

He decided to indulge his curiosity. "So...have you and your father been in Africa for long?"

She nodded. "He and my mother were part of one of the early groups of settlers. He’s been here more than twenty-five years now." She paused, considering before deciding to confide the next piece of information to the handsome young doctor. "I’m not his real daughter. I was found as an infant near the harbor, and taken to the church. My parents hadn’t been able to have children, and they adopted me and raised me as their own."

Methos attempted to act as if this was something of a surprise. "I’m sure they loved you just as much as they would one of theirs."

She nodded. "I know. I’m very lucky." She paused again. "My mother died three years ago, during the typhus epidemic. I miss her so much." Her voice caught.

"I’m sorry...that must have been terribly difficult for both you and your father," he sympathized.

She smiled at him. "It was. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to..."

"Elisabeth, please stop apologizing. There’s nothing to be sorry for."

She smiled at him again, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. She looked into his eyes, and once again he was drawn to her. Not only was she beautiful, she projected a warmth and strength of spirit that he had encountered only rarely. "What about you, Dr. Benjamin?"

"Oh, please, Matthew."

"Very well...Matthew." She smiled at him again, her eyes bright with attraction and promise.

He looked away from her, at the stream. Methos could feel himself being drawn towards her, drawn to her by her beauty and her kindness. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea_. Eventually, she’s probably going to be your student,_ he thought, _and you can’t be both her lover and her teacher._

He stood. "It’s getting late, we should go back."

Elisabeth looked up at him with surprise at his abrupt end to their quietly intimate conversation. She nodded slowly, standing. "Yes, I suppose it is."

They walked back toward the farmhouse, the silence heavy between them. Methos sighed inwardly, regretting his brusque demeanor at the stream. He stopped, and she turned to look at him. "Elisabeth, I’m sorry. I’ve had...a lot of loss in my life, and it’s difficult for me to open up to people." He paused, trying to gauge her reaction. "I value your friendship, and I apologize if I was abrupt with you."

Her features softened. She understood loss and how it could cause someone to withdraw from the people around them. She nodded at him. "I understand, Matthew. There’s no need to apologize."

Methos escorted her the rest of the way back to the farmhouse, and wished her a good evening, promising to call on her father again tomorrow. She watched him as he mounted his horse and rode away. He felt her gaze on his back, and wondered just how he was going to keep an eye on her and maintain his distance at the same time.

~~~~~~~

"I watched her for over a year," he told MacLeod. "She got a little older, and became even more beautiful, but she didn’t marry, which surprised me. Then, there was a series of raids by the native inhabitants, the Khoikhoi, who were slowly being pushed off their land by the Dutch. They hit Elisabeth’s father’s farm one night, killed everyone there. By the time I heard about the raids and got out to the farm to see if they were all right, Elisabeth had revived, Immortal. She sensed me for the first time, and it nearly knocked her off her feet." He paused, remembering. "Poor girl. She was grieving for her father, and terrified too. She knew she should have died, she’d taken a spear in the chest."

"What did you do then?" MacLeod urged him to continue the story.

Methos shrugged. "You know the drill. I told her what she was, what we are, slowly got her to accept the whole idea. She was still terrified." He shifted his weight on the sofa. "The good news was that nobody still alive knew she’d been killed, so we came up with a cover that she had hidden from the raiders, enabling her to stay on in Cape Town."

Methos was growing restless. He stood and started idly wandering the room. "I trained her for nearly a year. Taught her everything I could. It was difficult at first, she had never fought in her life, never even considered the idea. She was bright and graceful and picked up the drills quickly, but she was frightened of hurting me when we sparred."

"What about your personal relationship?"

"I was a good boy, Mac. You would have been proud of me," he smiled. "I was attracted to her, and I thought she had similar feelings about me, but I was determined not to let it compromise her training." He sprawled across the sofa again. "The teacher-student relationship is the closest thing Immortals have to family, to something truly sacred. I was determined not to betray that, not to betray her trust." Methos stopped as he felt a wave of emotion from MacLeod, and realized his error. "Bloody hell, Duncan, that was thoughtless. I’m sorry."

MacLeod shook his head. "Not your fault. Go on."

Methos frowned at his own callousness, but continued. "I became the hardest-ass teacher you’d ever seen. She spent most of that year hating me."

~~~~~~~

He yanked her to her feet, and handed her the short blade. "Again."

She sighed. "Please, Matthew, no more today..."

"Again," he said firmly, starting to circle her.

She sighed again, but complied. He waited, hoping that she was tired of being dropped on her bum, hoping that she might take the initiative this time.

He circled her twice, feinting briefly. Elisabeth parried successfully, but didn’t take advantage of the openings he had purposely left her. Methos was starting to get annoyed...very annoyed. With lightning speed, he quickly moved inside her guard, feinting left and attacking to the right, slicing across the shoulder. At the same time he lashed out with his left leg, catching her around the knee. She dropped the sword as she fell, and looked up to find a blade at her throat.

"Do you want me to end this now, Elisabeth?" His voice was low and angry. "Because you might just as well. Defense is not enough. Nobody ever took a head by parrying their opponent’s blows."

She stared up at him, and then looked away, tears in her eyes. "I don’t want to hurt you, Matthew. I don’t want to hurt anyone."

"Do you want to go to a convent then? Because it’s the only place you’ll be safe. It’s either learn to fight or spend eternity in a nunnery. Your choice." Elisabeth didn’t answer, but Methos knew that she was too restless and adventurous to last long in a cloister.

He finally removed his blade from her throat, and reached down to pull her up. This time, he didn’t let go, but held onto her arm and pulled her chin up to meet his eyes. "Listen to me, Elisabeth, hear what I am saying to you. Your life depends on it." Her chin trembled a bit, but she didn’t try to pull away. "There’s no prize for second place in the Game. Either you win, every single time, or you die. It’s that simple. There can be only one, Elisabeth. Get over this aversion about hurting me. Believe me, your opponents won’t have any such qualms."

He looked at her shoulder, and decided that it had healed satisfactorily. Methos handed her the blade. "Again." She might not be angry enough to attack him yet...but she would be soon.

~~~~~~~

Remembering her eased the grief somewhat, and Methos couldn’t help smiling at the memories. "I dumped her on her ass over and over and over, until she was literally ready to kill me. Trust me, it was enough to stifle any attraction she felt. Have you ever had a female student, Mac?"

Mac shook his head. "Not really...well, short-term only," he amended. "Connor’s trained women before, but I haven’t." MacLeod loved women, he truly did, and despite his natural urge to guard and protect them, he believed that he could relate to women as friends as well as lovers. But when it came to students, he’d always had the same fear that Methos was expressing. A student’s natural tendency to become infatuated with a teacher of the opposite sex could too easily slip out of control. The way Immortals usually trained only exacerbated this tendency, as teacher and student often lived under the same roof, and remained together constantly to protect the student’s head. The relationship was intimate enough without the added complication of sex.

An Immortal’s first teacher was his or her guardian, tutor, sparring partner, coach, surrogate parent, best friend, and worst enemy. _All of your teachers are important,_ MacLeod thought, _but your first teacher is a part of you, forever._ How many Immortals did he know who had been warped because their first teacher was acting in their own interests instead of their student’s? Lucas Kagan. Morgan D’Estaing...how many others? He believed that a teacher who slept with his student was taking advantage of her, betraying the trust that was critical to make the relationship effective, and it wasn’t a chance that MacLeod was prepared to take. No, he had never had a female student for any longer than was absolutely necessary.

Methos continued, "I had to make her furious to get her over the fear that she would hurt me, over her aversion to violence. Once she did, she was a good pupil, and she became quite competent with a sword. I did as much as I could, but eventually I knew that I had to find a woman to teach her for awhile. There reaches a point where you just can’t be helpful anymore to someone who’s ten inches smaller and fifty or more pounds lighter. Different techniques are needed, different strategies. And she just needed someone who could talk to her, teach her about surviving as a female Immortal in a man’s world." He paused a moment. "I knew we had to leave Cape Town, go back to Europe. I wanted to take her to Rebecca."

"You knew Rebecca?"

Methos shook his head. "No, not at the time, not personally. But I knew of her, knew that she often took on students, and that she was one of the best teachers around, male or female. It was either Rebecca or May-Ling, and Rebecca was a hell of a lot closer, not to mention easier to find. So, I’d decided to take Elisabeth to her, and hope that she believed my story and didn’t feel like a challenge." MacLeod felt the emotion projecting from Methos again. "It was on the trip to France that we encountered Coverdell."

~~~~~~~

Student and teacher strolled the ship’s deck as the _Valiant_ prepared to leave Cape Town’s port, exploring the surroundings that would be their home for the next several months. As they approached the bow, they felt Immortal presence. Methos turned slowly, searching his field of vision to determine which of the many people milling around the dock emanated the unmistakable signature of Immortality. Elisabeth felt it too, and she gripped his arm for balance as the wash of presence struck her.

Methos spotted them across the deck, acknowledging the man’s nod with his own. His female companion was Immortal as well, and Methos immediately decided that he did not like the predatory look in her rich brown eyes.

Elisabeth’s hold on his arm continued to tighten. "Relax, Elisabeth," he said quietly. "Looking panicked isn’t going to help any."

She nodded and loosened her viselike grip on his forearm. He led her to the rail, gazing out at the busy port. Methos was trying to decide whether he really wanted to spend the next two months on a ship with two possibly unfriendly Immortals when the couple approached them.

The man spoke first. "Good afternoon," he said genially. "Paul Coverdell. Allow me to present my companion, Marguerite d’Alla."

Methos swept his eyes over them quickly. Coverdell was tall and fair, with blondish hair and blue eyes. Based on accent and coloring, Methos presumed that he was either British or had lived in England recently. He appeared friendly enough on the surface, but his gaze was closed and unreadable. The woman’s eyes, however, were openly predatory, moving over himself and his student as her lips turned in a seductive smile. She was about a head shorter than Coverdell, and her form appeared slim and fit beneath a fashionable gown. In contrast to her companion, her coloring suggested Mediterranean origins.

"Dr. Matthew Benjamin," he replied. "My niece, Miss Elisabeth van der Merwe," he nodded to his student. Although the other Immortals would certainly not believe this description of their relationship, posing as relatives eliminated questions about the propriety of Elisabeth traveling with an unmarried male. Elisabeth observed the conversation, struggling to contain her fear. She was also listening intently to the still-unfamiliar language in which the men were addressing each other. Methos had started teaching her English and French in preparation for their trip to Europe, but she was not yet fluent in either tongue.

"On your way back to Europe?" Marguerite d’Alla asked conversationally. Methos decided that she was Spanish.

"Yes," Methos answered, trying to couch his answer in a way that would not reveal Elisabeth’s age. "Just a bit of wanderlust, I suppose."

"Ah, well, we can appreciate that," Coverdell said expansively. "We’re returning from a nice long voyage East."

"I’m sure we’ll enjoy hearing about your adventures during our journey," Methos said. "But I think at the moment, we had best get settled in our cabin."

"Certainly," Coverdell said. "Pleasure to meet you." He tipped his hat to Elisabeth, and took Marguerite’s arm, leading her toward the port side of the clipper ship.

Methos sighed as he took hold of Elisabeth’s arm once again; the gangplank was up, and the decision about whether to leave or remain on the ship became a moot point as he watched the sailors slip the lines and prepare to depart. It was going to be a long trip.

~~~~~~~

The first week passed without incident, but it soon became obvious to Methos that Marguerite d’Alla was watching them. Each time they were on deck or in one of the passenger common areas, she seemed to be close behind, either alone or with Coverdell. Regardless of whether or not she was escorted, Methos constantly caught her watching them, and in particular, watching Elisabeth. Methos tried to keep Elisabeth in their small cabin as much as possible, but both of them grew restless and excursions to the salon or outdoors were as much of a necessity as eating or breathing. They mostly worked on Elisabeth’s language skills, and she was rapidly improving. Keeping themselves occupied was the only way to keep tempers from flaring due to the lack of privacy or time to themselves, as Methos rarely let Elisabeth out of his sight.

One warm and fair afternoon they were sitting on the passenger deck, working on Elisabeth’s French. They felt Immortal presence at the same time, and Methos looked up to see Marguerite watching Elisabeth they way a hawk eyes a squirrel.

Enough was enough. Methos detailed the ship’s second officer to keep Elisabeth "company," for a few moments, and he followed the path Marguerite had taken. He spotted her in the passenger salon. "A moment of your time, Senorita d’Alla," he said in Castillian Spanish.

She smiled in response, gratified that he was addressing her in her native tongue. She was also experienced enough to recognize the warning implicit in his choice--_I’ve been around long enough to learn a few languages._

"Yes, Dr. Benjamin?" she answered. The only other passenger in the salon departed, leaving them alone.

Methos opted for the direct approach. "I’m wondering why you keep looking at my niece the way a cat eyes a mouse, Senorita."

She smiled, the predatory look he had seen the first day on board returning with a vengeance. "Your _niece_ seems very young, Dr. Benjamin," she said. "Very young. And weak." All pretense of geniality had vanished from her face and tone.

Methos responded in kind, moving closer to her than polite society would permit; close enough to take advantage of his height and look directly down at her. Just because he didn’t have occasion to use them often did not mean that he had forgotten his intimidation skills. "Whether she is young or not does not matter to you." His voice was flat and cold.

"Oh? And why is that?" She met his eyes, refusing to submit to the intimidation.

"Because if you want her, you are going to have to go through me. And I am neither young nor weak."

"You cannot interfere in a challenge!"

"Senorita, she will not accept your challenge. And the only way you can force her to fight is if I am not there to protect her. And I _will_ be there to protect her. Do you understand?"

The brown eyes glared into his, dark and angry. Methos stepped back. The warning had been issued; absent challenging her, there was nothing more he could do. They both turned towards the hatch as they felt the signature of a nearby Immortal. Paul Coverdell entered and immediately stiffened, feeling the tension in the room.

Methos walked towards the hatch, addressing Coverdell as he departed. "Tell your friend to leave us alone if she wants to keep her head," he warned quietly.

~~~~~~~

The inevitable happened a week later. The weather had started to turn, and a light rain was beginning to fall as Methos and Elisabeth took their evening stroll. She was happy to be outside, at least for a little while. She turned her head up toward the sky. "Isn’t it wonderful, Matthew?" she asked in French. Methos had insisted that they speak English or French all the time to increase her fluency, resorting to her native tongue only to communicate with members of the Dutch East India Company crew.

"Isn’t what wonderful, Elisabeth?" His mood wasn’t nearly as good as hers. All he saw were long weeks ahead of trying to keep both of their heads intact.

"The sea...the sky...they just go on forever."

"Everything ends somewhere, Elisabeth. Nothing lasts forever." He regretted his words as soon as they were out of his mouth, wishing that she could maintain her wide-eyed innocence and keep her head on her shoulders at the same time. Innocence and naivete were not especially safe qualities for Immortals.

"Maybe the sea doesn’t last forever, but the sky does." Well, he couldn’t argue with her there. Nearly five thousand years, traversing the world how many times, and he had to admit that he had never seen the place where the sky ended. The rain was beginning to fall more heavily. In a few minutes, they would both be drenched. He was about to conclude the outing and lead her back below decks when he sensed another Immortal.

He turned to find Marguerite standing there, sword drawn. Methos immediately drew his in response, pushing Elisabeth behind him. "She will not accept your challenge, Senorita d’Alla!"

She approached them, eyes glazed with blood lust and inexplicable hatred towards them both. "I do not challenge her. I challenge you!"

He quickly shrugged out of his coat, tossing it aside. "We do not have to do this, Senorita."

"Oh, but we do, Doctor. Nobody tells me who I may or may not challenge." The rain was coming down with a vengeance now, drenching all three of them. The deck started to pitch as the surf picked up.

Marguerite lunged suddenly, feinting low before striking at Methos’ sword arm. He parried, backing up as he assessed his opponent. She lacked his strength and reach, but she was fast and determined. His flat shoes gave him an advantage over her low-heeled boots on the tossing deck, and he kept moving, forcing her to compromise her balance to keep up with him. She missed him on the next pass before managing to slip inside his guard and slice across his left shoulder. Methos remembered Elisabeth when he heard her gasp. "Elisabeth...stay back!" he shouted in Dutch, his voice barely audible over the rain.

Methos was angry now, angry that he was cold and wet and angry at this woman for threatening a student who had become far too important to him. He avoided her next pass and then moved from defense to offense, surprising her with his change in tactics. Moving with far greater speed than he had demonstrated thus far, he took advantage of his greater reach to feint a cut to her right shoulder, catching her sword high in the air with his own blade. With his left hand, he unsheathed his dagger and stabbed her squarely in the chest. She gasped as she fell to the rolling deck, looking up at him with surprise which quickly turned to arrogance. Any tendency Methos may have had towards mercy vanished at that moment, and he pulled his sword back across his chest, striking the fatal blow with one smooth movement.

As the Quickening began, he felt another Immortal’s presence. Beneath the roar of the electrical shocks, he heard Coverdell’s anguished cry. Methos was unable to contain his own scream, both from the Quickening’s power and from the appalling sight of Coverdell pulling his blade on Elisabeth just a few feet away from him. He could do nothing but watch as the tremors continued, the lightning grounding through him and rooting him to the spot. Finally, he looked up, vaguely surprised to see that Elisabeth was still alive, holding her own against her far more experienced and powerful opponent. Still trying to catch his breath, exhausted and now seasick to boot, he could only watch as Elisabeth took a cut to her stomach. She cried out in pain but didn’t drop her guard, the adrenalin surging through her veins as she used her agility and speed as she had been taught, moving quickly to drive Coverdell back. Suddenly, the ship rolled wildly from side to side. Elisabeth managed to maintain her balance, but Coverdell slipped and fell backwards against the rail. She rushed him, her blade at his neck, but Coverdell pushed powerfully against the rail, throwing himself overboard.

Elisabeth slowly approached Methos, trembling as she pulled him to a standing position. "Are you all right?" she shouted over the storm. He nodded, looking at his student with a new sense of pride and respect, feeling very grateful that they were both still alive.


	3. Chapter 3

"How good was he?" MacLeod asked.

"Very good...Elisabeth was lucky she didn’t lose her head that night. We both were." He paused. Challenging Coverdell might well cost him his head. A few years ago, it wouldn’t even have been a consideration...he would have laughed at the idea of issuing a challenge against someone he knew was better than he was, regardless of the reason. Now...he didn’t feel that he had any other choice.

Methos shook himself out of his reverie. "After that, we made it to Rebecca with no problems. I didn’t hear of Coverdell again until tonight, I guess I assumed that he’d been lost at sea or that he lost his head somewhere along the way."

"Did Rebecca take Elisabeth on?"

Methos nodded. "Yes. She stayed with her a year. When I came back, she hadn’t aged, of course, but she’d grown up. She had started to grow up that night on the ship, and with Rebecca she came of age, both as a woman and as one of us." He paused and smiled, remembering. "She didn’t hate me anymore--she understood then why I’d been so tough on her. It was after she left Rebecca that we became lovers. We were together nearly thirty years, Mac."

"Why did you split up?"

Methos shrugged, his tone philosophical. "We grew apart from each other after awhile. She was as high-spirited and adventurous at fifty as she had been at twenty, and she wasn’t happy with the low-profile lifestyle I wanted to lead. We loved each other, we truly did. But we couldn’t maintain the love and be together all the time."

MacLeod began, "But if you were in love..."

"Mac," Methos interrupted. "Do you love Amanda?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes, I love her...I always have."

"Does that mean you necessarily want to live with her, travel with her, be with nobody else except her?"

MacLeod conceded the point, and nodded.

"What Elisabeth and I had was not that different from what you and Amanda have. We could go decades without seeing each other, but when we met it was like we’d never been apart. We’d have a great reunion, catch up and enjoy each other’s company, have incredible sex if neither of us was committed to someone else at the time, then go our own ways again."

MacLeod considered how he would feel if Amanda was suddenly removed from his life, and began to realize the depth of his friend’s pain.

Methos continued, "Now she’s gone, that bastard killed her, and I’m going to find him and take his head."

MacLeod couldn’t deny that he would feel the same way about Amanda’s killer, but that didn’t mean he thought this was a good idea. With a few exceptions, Methos had essentially been out of the Game for centuries. "Methos, let me find him."

His friend regarded him angrily. "MacLeod, I told you once that you cannot fight my battles for me. Was it the ‘cannot’ part or the ‘battles’ part that you didn’t understand?" MacLeod tried to speak, but Methos cut him off. "This is _my_ battle, MacLeod. The right of vengeance is _mine,_ and I intend to take it."

MacLeod finally broke in. "Even if it puts Dana in danger?"

Methos raised his eyes, his voice low and dangerous. "What?"

"There’s something I haven’t told you yet, Methos. Coverdell didn’t take Elisabeth’s head in a challenge. He kidnapped her and her mortal lover. According to Elisabeth’s Watcher, he had them both for days. Elisabeth’s body was gone, but the police found her lover’s. He’d been tortured, Methos. Extensively. He died from it." MacLeod looked away, biting back his bitterness toward the Watcher who had not only let an Immortal die helplessly, but an innocent mortal as well.

Methos closed his eyes, trying to block his grief, rage, and fear. He wasn’t frightened for himself; he was quite sure that whatever Coverdell could dish out was child’s play compared to what he’d experienced in his life. He had been tortured by experts and survived. But the thought of Dana in his hands...

"Jesus, Methos, please stop..." MacLeod finally burst out. "I can _feel_ you."

Methos sat back on the sofa. He rubbed his temples and modulated his breathing, consciously trying to pull in his emotions. They really needed to have this discussion. "I know. I’m sorry. We should have talked about this a long time ago."

"Silas and Kronos." MacLeod said flatly.

 "Yes."

"The double Quickening..." Mac said, remembering that gut-wrenching night in France.

~~~~~~~

Bordeaux, France  
1997

The white cloud spiraled through the room, the lightning flashing between the two Immortals, connecting the victors. MacLeod was driven to his knees by the force of the Quickening, by the sheer power of an Immortal as old as Kronos. He screamed, his arms pinned to his sides by an invisible force. He felt the essence of the dead men, Kronos and Silas, curdle through him. Silas was simplistic and brutal; Kronos was egomaniacal, passionate evil.

He also felt Methos...and for a few moments he knew him, became him, understood him. As the Quickening’s electrical force charged through his body, he saw directly into his friend’s soul. MacLeod felt the ancient Immortal’s regret, his grief, his capacity for love, and most of all, he felt the enormous, heart-wrenching loss that Methos had faced during his long life. He knew that Methos regretted who and what he had been with the full force of his soul, and spent every moment living with the regret and trying to redeem himself.

Finally, the shocks subsided, and MacLeod slowly raised his head. Across the chasm he saw Cassandra standing over his friend with Silas’ axe poised to strike, her victim on his knees, sobbing and unresisting. He could not let her kill Methos, this man he now knew so intimately; more intimately than any lover.

"Cassandra!" MacLeod shouted with as much force as he could muster.

"You want him to live?" she demanded incredulously.

"Yes, I want him to live," he said. His voice grew more strident as she raised the axe once again. "Cassandra!" he cried out. "I want him to live!"

~~~~~~~

"Yes." Methos replied. "Like it or not, Mac, we’re inside each other’s heads. To some extent, anyway." He paused. "I’ve picked up your emotions a few times before, Duncan. When Richie..." he paused. "That night at the racetrack. And when you faced Ahriman. With Richie I was close by, but I was thousands of miles away during your confrontation with Ahriman."

"So...it seems that we can pick up each other’s feelings, but not precise thoughts."

"Yes. And it seems to be much easier to pick up things when we’re in close proximity. I can pick up nearly all your emotions now, but when we’re apart I was only able to pick up really intense feelings."

"What if we were near each other and one of us took a head?"

"I don’t know, Mac." Methos fervently wished that Sean Burns was still alive, that there was somebody they could go to who had experience with the mind, its workings and its potential. The only living Immortal he knew with any experience with psychic phenomena was...well, he wasn’t going _there,_ was he. "There are documented cases of similar empathic connections, in Immortals who showed no sign of psychic ability when they were mortal. Nobody knows if they were caused by Quickenings, or something else."

"Jacob Galati." MacLeod said.

"What?" Methos asked, surprised that his friend was raising another sore subject between them.

"Jacob and Irena Galati were empathically connected. She was attacked once, probably a quarter mile from where Jacob and I were, and he felt her fear, knew that she was in danger. He was too far away to hear her scream, but he felt it."

Methos nodded. "I don’t know, Mac. We could try some experiments, I guess, to try to figure out the extent of it. My suspicion is that we can practice blocking each other out, put up mental barriers to keep from projecting. A long time ago I learned how to do that to keep someone who was truly psychic out of my head." Methos stared down at his hands. In truth, he had learned quite a bit more about mind-reading at the time. He considered trying to probe Mac, to see how deep the connection ran, but he was concerned that if the link was as deep as he thought it might be, MacLeod would be upset, and perhaps, overwhelmed.

"I’m not so worried about it generally, I guess." MacLeod said, rather unconvincingly. "My concern’s that it would cause a problem during a fight."

"I suspect that if we aren’t both present, it won’t be an issue. And if we were both there, then we’d know that we’d have to block any intense emotions to keep them from distracting the other person."

MacLeod nodded. "That makes sense." For reasons he did not fully understand, he was growing increasingly uncomfortable. He had been vaguely aware that something unique had happened during the Quickening in Bordeaux since the moment the shocks subsided, but knowing it and experiencing the effects were not the same. The only other time he had really been aware of perceiving Methos’ emotions, he had been thousands of miles away, and it had been more like...a feeling, a premonition that something had happened to Methos and that he needed to call and see if the old man was okay. Being here, now, and feeling nearly every emotion that Methos was feeling was a very different matter. MacLeod tried to accept it as another mystery of Immortal life that he might never fully understand. Nonetheless, he thought that seeking some psychic "training" to learn how to control it was a very good idea.

Methos watched MacLeod carefully, measuring his reactions. He had more familiarity with psychic phenomena than MacLeod, although he had never before experienced precisely this type of connection. Perhaps it was the ultimate irony, after the emotional pain they had inflicted on each other, that Methos and Duncan MacLeod would find themselves bound together in this intimate and invasive manner.

Methos finally allowed his thoughts to wander back to Coverdell. He wanted his head, he wanted vengeance for Elisabeth--but not at the expense of Dana’s safety. Suddenly it came to him, even though it had been obvious the entire time. "It doesn’t matter whether I decide to go after Coverdell or not, Mac. He was asking about me in Paris. He’s coming after me."

"The thought had occurred to me."

Finally, it dawned on Methos. "That’s why you’re here. To protect me." He nearly spat out the words, angry again. "You know, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, I somehow managed to survive a few challenges over five thousand bloody years without you hovering about to protect me. Let me say this slowly, so slowly that even a thick-headed Scottish Boy Scout can understand. You cannot fight my battles for me."

"Methos...I’m not here to fight for you." MacLeod knew that Methos’ hostility was a way of coping with all of the emotions welling up inside him, and he refused to respond in kind. "I’m just...here. Here for support, or help, or whatever you need, all right?"

"You can help me pack."

"Pack? For where?"

"For..." He looked at the pad on the table. "Jacksonville, Florida. I’m going to see Dana."

"Are you going to tell her all this?"

"I dunno, Mac. I doubt it. She’s got enough on her mind." His voice had softened again. "I just need to see her. And it’ll give me a day or two to come up with a plan to deal with Coverdell. He’ll turn up here anytime now...and I don’t want to face him until I’m ready."

"Why don’t I stick around then...watch your place and Dana’s, hold down the fort?"

Methos nodded. "I appreciate that. If he starts asking around the neighborhood or at school, he’ll find out Dana’s name before long. My main concern is protecting her, MacLeod. Whatever happens." He looked up to meet his friend’s eyes.

MacLeod answered the unasked question. "I will, Methos. I swear it."

Methos knew that he meant it with ever fiber of his being. "Thank you, Duncan."

"There’s nothing to thank me for. You’ll be around to protect her. I’ll just be...backup."

"I hope so, Mac. I hope so."

~~~~~~~

Jacksonville, Florida

Twenty hours later, Methos trooped into the Jacksonville Holiday Inn, grateful for once that the FBI wasn’t housing its agents at the local roach motel. What should have been a two hour plane trip had taken nearly all day. The earliest flight he could get hadn’t been until noon, and he’d had to change planes in Atlanta. His connection had been incredibly delayed. Even without baggage to collect, he didn’t arrive at the Holiday Inn until nearly eight in the evening.

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten to take the note with Dana’s room number on it with him, and MacLeod didn’t answer the phone at the brownstone. He approached the front desk, wearing his sweetest and most innocent face. He looked at the name tag of the attractive young Asian woman behind the counter.

"Hi, Fern," he said to her with a charming smile. "My name’s Adam Pierson, I’m here to see Dana Scully. Can you tell me what room she’s in?"

She returned his smile. "I’m sorry, sir, but we aren’t allowed to give out the room numbers of our guests. If you call the operator on the house phone, she’ll connect you to her room."

He made a sympathetic face. "I know that, Fern, but I’m asking for a special favor. You see, Dana’s my, well, girlfriend," he blushed. "She’s been out of town for weeks, and I came to see her because I miss her terribly. I would really, really, love to surprise her. I had a note with her room number, but I left it at home."

Fern smiled sweetly. "I wish I could help you, Mr. Pierson, I really do..."

He tried once more, projecting a full-court press of charm and innocence. "Please, Fern. It would mean so much to me...look, I’m a professor at Georgetown University." He handed her a card. "I’m not an ax murderer, honestly." Methos kept smiling at her.

She melted. "I’m sure you’re not, Professor Pierson..." She tapped on the computer for a moment. "Please don’t tell anyone I did this, okay?" Fern leaned over, speaking confidentially. "Your friend’s in room 614."

He smiled brightly, then took her hand and kissed it quickly. "Thank you, Fern. I will never forget this, I swear." Methos made a mental note to send her flowers tomorrow.

Fern watched him walk toward the elevator, sighing to herself. Whoever Ms. Scully was, she sure was a lucky lady.

~~~~~~~

Dana Scully had just finished pulling on workout clothes, intending to go down to the hotel’s small gym. She was exhausted, but she was also so tense that she knew sleep wouldn’t be an option until she worked off some of her frustration on the Stair Master. She was reaching for her socks when the knock on the door came, and she groaned. "Mulder, this had better be good," she grumbled to herself, reluctantly opening the door.

Her mouth dropped open when she found her lover standing there, holding a duffel bag, a wry smile on his handsome, angular face. "Adam..."

He smiled. "Hi, sweet lady." She had on sweats and a tank top, her hair was pulled back, and she wasn’t wearing a trace of makeup. To him, she had never looked more beautiful. Dana was still staring at him, not believing that he was actually there. "Umm...could I come in?" he asked.

Dana blinked twice. "Yes, of course. Come in." He entered and shut the door behind him, dropping his bag and pulling her towards him in one swift move. He kissed her gently on the mouth, rejoicing in the feel and taste of her as she opened to him. She slid her arms around him, embracing him tightly. Methos could feel the fatigue and tension in her body, and dismissed any thoughts of tumbling her into bed that instant. She was going to relax tonight, whether she wanted to or not.

He broke the kiss, but continued to embrace her. Finally, she looked up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I missed you, so I came to see you. Mountain, Mohammed, et cetera. Any complaints?" He smiled.

"No, of course not. I’m so glad you’re here." She turned her head away, but he had already seen the tear running down her face.

"Where you are, Dana, I will be," Methos said, echoing words he had said to her the day after she learned about his Immortality. She embraced him tightly, feeling him close against her body.

He tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. "Are you okay, Dana?"

She nodded. "I’m just tired. We all are. And frustrated."

He pulled her to the small love seat beneath the window. "Come...sit. Tell me everything."

They sat down, snuggling in each other’s arms, and the story came pouring out. Eight dead children, sexual and non-sexual abuse, dozens of grieving family members, false leads, general bureaucratic confusion. Picking up and moving the entire team each time a new murder occurred...it was taking its toll on every FBI agent involved in the case. Methos listened quietly. He could offer nothing to lift the burden that she was feeling, but he could relieve the tension, gentle away the strain, at least for a little while.

After she had finally told him the whole story, he asked quietly, "Have you eaten?"

She shook her head. Methos reached for the phone and dialed room service, ordering a simple meal of vegetable soup, bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine. Waiting for the food to arrive, they sat quietly on the love seat, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

After dinner, Methos sent Dana into the bathroom with her glass of wine and orders to soak in a hot tub for at least twenty minutes. "Trust me," he told her. "There are few better remedies for tense muscles...heaven knows you need it." She smiled wryly, and he maneuvered her toward the bathroom without further argument. He called down to housekeeping for some extra towels, and rummaged in his bag until he found a small bottle of massage oil he had picked up in his travels.He changed clothes, out of his jeans and oxford into sweats and a T-shirt, leaving his feet bare. With a knock at the door, the towels arrived. Methos thanked the housekeeper profusely and overtipped her. He wished that he had a massage table, but the bed would have to do.

Methos had just finished spreading the towels out when Dana emerged, wrapped in a white terrycloth bathrobe. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes seemed brighter than before.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"Much," she said, looking at the bed. "What’s this?" she asked, gesturing toward the towels.

"This," he answered, moving toward her, "is another remedy for sore muscles." He directed her toward the bed.

"Methos..."

"Dana, let me do this, please." He kissed her softly. "I know I can’t help you with your investigation, I can’t take away the stress of the situation, but this I can do. So please, let me, okay?"

She nodded, but seemed reluctant. "Okay." Methos wondered why it was so difficult for her to accept a simple offer of tenderness and caring.

Methos guided her to the bed, and released the belt on her robe. He shifted her gently onto her stomach, pulling the top of the robe down and off, so her arms and back were exposed, but her buttocks and thighs remained covered by the warm terrycloth. Before he sat next to her on the edge of the bed, he moved through the room, flipping off light switches, until the only illumination in the room came from a small bedside lamp.

He began a slow massage of her head and scalp, threading his fingers through her hair and rubbing lightly. "Breathe," he murmured. "Just relax. Sleep, even, if you can." She nodded slightly, attempting to comply. He moved to the acupressure and shiatsu points on her head, careful to keep his touch gentle. Methos slipped one leg over her waist to straddle her, resting his weight on his knees rather than on her back. Fortunately the mattress was fairly firm and provided sufficient leverage.

Reaching for the massage oil, Methos poured a small amount into his palm, and rubbed his hands together to warm the liquid. He traced his hands lightly over the back of her neck and shoulders, feeling the tension the hot water hadn’t been able to release. Beginning at the base of her neck, his fingers probed carefully, searching for points of tension and massaging gently to release them. Dana couldn’t hold back a low gasp as he found a sore point just below her right shoulder. He leaned down and whispered, "Sorry...take a deep breath for me...blow it out slowly..." As she complied, he worked to release the knot and gentle away the soreness.

He continued, working his way down each arm, his long, gentle fingers firm and soothing at the same time. Trying as he was to keep this tender rather than erotic, Methos couldn’t help but revel in the silken softness of her skin, pale yet flushed with warmth from both the hot bath and the massage. He listened to her breathing ease and slow, indicating that his tender ministrations were working as he had hoped, relaxing her, relieving the stress, making her put her work aside for just a little while.

His hands reached her back, fingers splayed across the skin. He moved back to straddle her thighs, pressing his thumbs along her vertebrae, then kneading the muscles. Dana made a sound that was almost like a purr, and Methos smiled, pleased and relieved that she was finally relaxing and letting herself enjoy his care. He moved his hands down her thighs and along her legs, rubbing each foot carefully but firmly before gently returning it to the bed.

Picking up one of the large folded towels, he sat beside her on the edge of the bed once again, wiping away excess oil and gently rubbing what remained into her skin. Then he laid the towel across her back, and pulled the terrycloth robe away, setting it aside. He leaned down to her ear and spoke quietly. "I’m going to roll you over...let me do the work, just relax." Dana murmured a bit in protest but complied, unresisting as Methos turned her onto her back. He tucked the towel loosely under her arms. He picked up her left arm again, and began to massage it once again.

She smiled up at him. "You’re very good at this...I bet you’ve had lots of experience."

"A story for another time," he answered, returning her smile. "How do you feel?"

"Good...great. Much better. A little sleepy."

"Sleep, if you like."

Her lip curved slightly, as if she wanted to say something but didn’t know quite how to phrase it. "But...you came all this way..."

Understanding, his face broke into a broad grin. "Dana, I didn’t come here for sex. Believe me, I’ve gone far longer without." Not wanting to seem flip, he leaned down and kissed her lips gently. "As much as I adore making love with you, that’s not why I came...I came because I missed you. I just wanted to see you." Moving again, he took her other arm in his hands, flexing her fingers as he massaged each one.

As he continued, thoughts of Elisabeth sprang into his mind. Happy memories were mixed with his sense of loss, and--dare he admit it?--guilt over her death. He was almost certain that Coverdell had tortured Elisabeth to find out what she knew about Methos’ current identity. Coverdell’s battle was with him, not with Elisabeth, and only the gods knew what she had endured to try to protect him. Methos tried to push the thoughts away, to place his grief, his rage, and his fears about the battle to come in a tiny box in the corner of his mind, and to close and lock it away just for tonight...while he was with Dana. He looked at her lovingly, and a phrase from an old friend’s verse sprang into his mind unbidden. _Oh, Dana,_ he thought. _Thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt..._

He slowed his movements as he turned his attentions to her neck, noting that she had closed her eyes. Methos watched as her breathing slowed, and he smiled when he realized that she had dozed off. He wiped away the remaining oil, setting the bottle aside on the table. He switched the light off before pulling the robe over Dana’s body. Quickly shedding the sweats and T-shirt, he laid down on the bed beside her in his boxer shorts. Curling his body around hers, he drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Dana awoke several hours later. She almost started when she felt an arm across her stomach, and then remembered her lover's unexpected appearance, and his tender caring earlier that evening. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she looked at his face, just inches from hers. He looked so young when he slept...it was difficult for her to believe that he was five thousand years old sometimes. Perhaps most of the time. She leaned place a soft kiss on his forehead, and his eyes opened.

"Sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to wake you."

He smiled. "I can't think of a nicer way to wake up, _bonita._"

She looked into his gold-flecked hazel eyes. "Mmmmm...I love it when you speak Spanish."

"I love it when you love it when I speak Spanish," he responded, taking her hand in his and kissing it.

"And Italian..."

"_Bella, bellissima..._" he whispered, opening his mouth to kiss her wrist and palm.

"French..."

"Nah, French is overdone," he rejoined playfully, capturing her lips in a kiss.

She responded eagerly, opening her lips and sighing with quiet desire as his tongue began exploring her mouth._ God, I've missed this,_ she thought. Not only the sexual pleasure, which varied from tender to intense, but just the physical closeness; his simple presence in her bed and in her life.

Dana moaned softly as he moved from her mouth to her face, peppering every inch with soft, butterfly kisses. Methos threaded his hands through her soft auburn hair, caressing her head and the back of her neck. His mouth opened again as he moved to her neck, gently sucking at the flesh there, teasing it with his tongue and lightly nipping with his teeth.

She wanted to reciprocate, to feel him beneath her hands, but he caught her wrists as she moved to touch him, and pressed them gently back on the bed. Methos slid one hand down her throat and peeled away the towel still covering her body, exposing her naked flesh to him. Her eyes closed briefly; the Catholic girl buried deep inside still suffering from long-ingrained inhibitions, inhibitions that existed despite the intimacy that had developed so easily between them.

Methos bent over her, his voice nearly inaudible as he whispered directly into her ear. "Gods, Dana, you are so beautiful. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

She met his eyes, her reserve dissolving as it invariably did every time they made love. Dana stroked the side of his face, lifting her head to kiss him, taking the initiative this time as she traced her tongue across his mouth. He caught her tongue in his mouth, the kiss growing in passion as desire started to build inside each of them. His hands found her breasts, brushing across them lightly before returning to stroke each one with splayed fingers.

Methos gently broke the kiss, his mouth following the path his hands had taken. He licked one nipple lightly, teasing, before returning to apply firm pressure with his tongue and lips. Dana moaned underneath his touch as he moved to her other breast. He slid further down her body, licking, nipping and sucking at her stomach, moving her legs further apart and slipping between them. Dana recognized the growing level of intensity in her lover as he traced his hands over her thighs. She looked down at him and his eyes met hers, the usually hazel pupils now dark and dilated. A smile spread across his face as he slipped one finger between her warm, moist folds, eliciting a sound that was both a gasp and a sigh.

"Methos..." she whispered. His finger continued the gentle stroking as he slid his body further down the bed to kiss and lick her thighs, knees and calves, as if he wanted the taste of every inch of her body permanently imprinted on his brain and his senses. Unable to resist, Dana squirmed slightly under his probing finger, trying to increase the pressure against her clitoris.

He moved up the bed once again, kissing her as she tried to move against his gentle, featherlike touch, smiling at her reaction. "Patience, my love," he said, gently teasing her. "Good things come to those who wait." Deciding she had waited long enough, Methos moved back down between her thighs, removing his finger. She moaned at the loss, but his gentle hand was soon replaced by a tongue sliding between her swollen lips, tracing the folds as they opened to him like the petals of a flower on a spring morning. Avoiding the center of her desire, his tongue slowly explored her sex from the soft outer lips to the warm, tight chasm, his own arousal growing as the sound of her passion reached his ears. Again searching for friction, she tried to move her hips against his mouth, but he would have none of it, placing his hands on her hips and gently but firmly pinning her to the bed.

Just before she nearly sobbed in frustration and desire, his mouth found her clitoris, first gently licking the tiny bundle of nerves, then drawing the swollen flesh into his mouth and sucking on it as firmly as possible. Her hands wrapped around his head, threading her fingers through his silky black hair as he made love to her with his mouth. As incredible as the sensations were, she didn't want to reach orgasm without him, not after the long weeks of separation, and she gently pulled at his hair.

"Methos...please..." Her voice was low and husky with need. Methos, his need to experience her body with all of his senses somewhat abated, lifted his head and slid up her body once again, pausing to finally remove the boxer shorts that concealed his erection. He kissed her as she guided his sex between her thighs and inside of her, both of them gasping as he slid firmly into her tight warmth.

The urge to move overcame both of them, and Dana wrapped her legs around his hips to drive him deeper inside of her. Arms wrapped around each other, mouths covering every surface of the other's body they could reach, they rapidly moved toward the fulfillment of weeks of pent-up loneliness and need.

Dana was already so aroused that it didn't take long for her to begin to shudder and spasm beneath her lover, her body bucking and tightening around his. Her orgasm triggered his, and Methos gasped out his own completion, sighing her name over and over as he spilled into her, losing control as he truly began to fathom just how much this woman meant to him.

They remained entwined for long minutes before finally, regretfully, he slipped outside of her warmth. Methos curled his arms around Dana, trying to wrap himself completely around her, as if that could protect them both from the outside forces that might tear them away from each other.

~~~~~~~

Duncan MacLeod returned from a quick check of Dana's apartment, whistling to himself as he climbed the steps of Methos' brownstone. Everything had looked fine there; using the key Methos had left him to enter, he had made a survey and found nothing amiss. _That was probably good news,_ he thought. If Coverdell hadn't found out who Dana was or where she lived, they were still one step ahead of him. Perhaps he hadn't found Methos yet, either. The university secretaries had told him that afternoon that nobody had asked about Professor Pierson, but that wasn't conclusive. On any college campus, one could discover an awful lot through unofficial channels.

MacLeod entered the apartment, removing his duster and tossing it over the back of the sofa. He barely got a glance at the two ski-masked men before one of them shot him twice in the chest.

~~~~~~~

Fox Mulder rapped briskly on the door of room 614, his eyes widening in surprise when it was opened by Adam Pierson.

"Good morning," Methos said pleasantly. He was wearing a hotel robe, toweling his hair dry. "Come in."

"Hi, Adam," Mulder replied, entering the room. "I didn't know you were here."

Methos smiled. "I just got in last night. Thought I'd surprise Dana." He went over to the bathroom door and knocked. "Dana...your partner's here." A moment of somewhat awkward silence ensued. The two men saw each other occasionally and were cordial enough, but they were both aware that Dana was their only common interest.

Dana Scully emerged from the bathroom, already dressed. She immediately noticed that Mulder was wearing a blue windbreaker with "FBI" imprinted in large letters across the back and over the pocket. "Mulder...what's up?"

Mulder glanced at his partner's lover, then spoke. "We may have a line on him, Scully. We're leaving in ten minutes to meet the local SWAT team."

"Where?"

"A house...close by. It's a tip from a neighbor and the description matches the one the kindergarten teacher in Savannah gave us. This could be it, Scully. We've got people watching the place."

She nodded, going to the closet and reaching for her own windbreaker. She tossed it on her bed as she checked her gun.

Methos swallowed, trying to remember that she was a trained professional and that it was her job to chase after deranged lunatic child murderers. That didn't make him feel any better about it, however.

Satisfied with her weapon, Dana picked up her jacket. She turned to Methos. "Can you stay?"

"I'm not going anywhere until you get back." He bit back the word_ safely._ Methos kissed her lightly on the lips.

As she turned away from him, for one long moment Methos' eyes met Fox Mulder's with a plea--_keep her safe._ Mulder answered with an almost imperceptible nod before following Dana Scully out the door. Methos sank down on the bed, pondering the unclassifiable relationship between his lover and her partner. He might not be able to put a label on their relationship, but he had no doubt how deep it went; no doubt that Mulder would take a bullet in her place should it become necessary.

~~~~~~~

MacLeod revived with a rough gasp. He was blindfolded, and his hands were tightly bound above his head. His arms dangled from something, his feet barely touching the ground. MacLeod yanked his arms, but only succeeded in hurting his hands. He flinched as he felt a wave of Immortal presence.

"Who the hell are you?" A voice demanded, pulling off his blindfold. "You idiots," the voice said. "This isn't him! I said tall and_ fair-skinned_! Does this look like fair skin to you? Go watch the brownstone. Stay there and this time call me when you see him, or the woman. And make sure they're the right ones this time!" Footsteps indicated the retreat of whoever the voice was speaking to.

MacLeod blinked a few times, trying to focus his eyes. Now fully conscious, he was spitting mad, his voice low and angry. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, and if you like your head on your shoulders you'll let me go right now."

"I don't think you're in any position to make demands, do you?"

MacLeod's eyes finally adjusted to the light, and he looked at his captor, assessing him as an opponent. Coverdell (at least he guessed it was Coverdell) was tall and lanky, probably between 28 and 32 at the time of his first death. He looked strong--there wasn't an ounce of fat on him anywhere, and the muscles of his arms and chest were well-defined. Long legs suggested agility and speed. He appeared formidable, but in his current position Coverdell wouldn't need to be a capable fighter in order to take his head.

MacLeod glared at him. "What do you want?"

"Adam Pierson. Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Mr. MacLeod...we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. You aren't the one I sent my two mortal friends after, but since you're here, you're going to tell me what you know."

"So then you can take my head?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Maybe you'll be more useful as trading chattel, or as bait, to put it crudely."

"If you think I'm going to tell you anything, you're out of your mind."

Out of nowhere a dagger appeared in Coverdell's hand, and plunged into the soft flesh on MacLeod's thigh. He bit back a scream, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "Perhaps, perhaps not."

~~~~~~~

Methos released the breath he had been holding since Dana left when she and Fox Mulder walked back into the hotel lobby with the rest of the team. He had been hunched in a chair in the waiting area, pretending to read a book while he waited for any word.

She said a few words to her partner, who waved to him and headed towards the elevator as Dana joined Methos. "Hi," she said, kissing him quickly. "It's over. We've got him."

"Thank heavens," he replied. "Everyone's all right?"

"On our team, yes. He got a shot off at a SWAT guy before they took him down. He's going to be okay, though."

"Dana, I'm so glad this is over."

She smiled. "So am I."

"Can you come back to D.C. with me?" he asked.

She shook her head regretfully. "No, we're going straight to Quantico for debriefing. It should only be a day or so, though. Then I'll be home. Maybe we can go away for the weekend."

Methos pushed lurking thoughts of Coverdell to the back of his mind. "Count on it." He glanced at his watch. "What time are you leaving?"

"Two hours," she replied.

"Hmmm...I bet I can think of a way to keep you occupied until then..."

Blue eyes met gold-flecked green, the corner of her lip lifting in a wry smile. "I bet you can, at that," she replied, taking his hand and heading for the elevator.

~~~~~~~

"Dana Scully. Dana Katherine Scully. A medical doctor and a special agent for the FBI. Isn't that right, MacLeod?"

"Who?" he rasped, trying to catch his breath before the pipe hit his kidneys again. He felt the scream rise in his throat and forced himself to swallow it back.

"Come now, MacLeod. Is a friend worth the pain? Tell me about their relationship and maybe I'll let you rest for awhile."

"She's just a friend. She means nothing to him," MacLeod knew that he wasn't a particularly good liar on the best of days, and this was not the best of days.

"Yes, of course," Coverdell retorted. He nodded to the dark-haired goon, who promptly applied the lead pipe to MacLeod's left knee. He let the scream go this time, tearing out of his lungs with extraordinary force.

"Let me tell you, MacLeod. Both your friend and his lady are going to die. He is going to watch her die, he is going to beg me to kill her before I'm finished. It may have taken three hundred years, but I will have my vengeance and my love will have her justice."

~~~~~~~

Methos hadn't been able to reach MacLeod from the airport, so he took a taxi home. He knew something was wrong as soon as he opened the brownstone's unlocked front door. He felt no presence; MacLeod wasn't here. But his duster was, and a quick inspection produced the katana from its hidden sheath. Methos sucked in a deep breath. There was only one reason MacLeod had left the house without his sword--and the reason was that he had not left voluntarily. Calling upon long-unused skills, he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, trying to find the connection to MacLeod along their empathic link. A shiver went down his spine as he began to perceive his friend's emotions--extraordinary anger, considerable fear, and breathtaking pain.

He tossed his bag in the bedroom, and restored order to the apartment while he considered what to do next. He was considering a call to Joe Dawson to see if he had a local Watcher on MacLeod when the phone rang twenty minutes later. "Hello?" he answered tersely.

"Ahhh, Dr. Benjamin," said a smug, overconfident voice. "Or is it Professor Pierson these days?"

Methos' temper flared. "Fuck you, Coverdell, you're a dead man."

"Mmmm...I don't think so, Matthew. But you're rather temperamental Scottish friend will be, unless you meet me in one hour."

Methos winced. "How do I know that you have him, or that he's still alive?" he asked, buying time to think.

There was a pause, and then he heard the unmistakable sound of MacLeod screaming in pain. Methos closed his eyes. If what Elisabeth and her lover had been through was any indication, he could only imagine the horrors Coverdell had subjected Mac to...and knowing the Highlander, he hadn't broken; hadn't done or said anything Coverdell had wanted in exchange for ending the pain.

Coverdell came back on the line. "Convinced now? One hour, or he loses his head."

"Where?" he asked, scribbling down the address Coverdell provided. "Fine...and I swear it, Coverdell, if you kill him I won't take your head until you beg me to. And you_ will _beg me to when I'm through." He slammed down the phone.

He sat down at the kitchen table and buried his head in his hands. Although he encouraged others to do so, he didn't underestimate his own skill with a sword...but he still wasn't sure he could beat Coverdell. Methos wasn't even certain that he would have the chance to beat him in a fair fight, if he wanted to save Mac's life. He shrugged to himself. Whatever the cost, he could not abandon his friend to Coverdell. As he had once advised MacLeod, he would go and fight his best fight, in whatever form it took. He couldn't help but wonder for a moment when, exactly, he had changed so profoundly. He, Methos, delivering himself up for execution to save a friend? Three years ago, such a thought would have been ridiculous, preposterous, unthinkable.

When Duncan MacLeod had walked into his Paris flat, he had been living a quiet life among his dusty stacks of books. Yes, he had friends; but he had also been prepared to drop them like hot potatoes if they ever posed a serious threat to his life or his secret. Then he had become involved in Duncan MacLeod's life, and nothing had been quiet or low-key ever since. Somewhere along the way, things had changed--_he_ had changed. He was no longer willing to pick up and disappear at the first sign of trouble. Duncan, Joe, Amanda...and Dana. They all meant too much too him; they were the people that made his life worth living.

Did he care enough to turn himself over to an egotistical monster if it was necessary to save the Highlander's life? He had once told MacLeod that he was too important to lose, and he had meant it. He was the reason that Coverdell had kidnapped MacLeod, just as he was the reason that he had killed Elisabeth and her lover. Methos saw no alternative to playing out whatever scenario Coverdell had in mind. Allowing Coverdell to kill MacLeod as he had killed Elisabeth was, well, unthinkable. Just because he had warned MacLeod many times against risking his own life to save others didn't mean that he had to take his own advice.

However, doing the right thing also meant that he might never come back, might never see Dana again. At first he tried to push the thought away, it was so painful as to be nearly unbearable. But he couldn't ignore the possibility; he couldn't disappear without leaving something for her in case he didn't return. He reached for a pad of paper. First, he wrote a short note to MacLeod, then he began to compose a much more difficult letter.

_Sweet lady,_

_Because of what I am, it's often easy to forget how precious time is. You sometimes forget that perhaps you should say whatever it is that's on your mind now, because tomorrow may be too late._

_I have so much say to you, Dana, but now it seems that time has caught up with me at long last, and I've missed the chance to look into your eyes and hold your hands as you hear my thoughts. Know this, my sweet--I have loved you from the first moment I saw you, and not for one moment since have I ever stopped loving you. Please know that I left this world with your name on my lips and a part of you in my soul._

_Please do as Duncan asks--he will keep you safe._

_Ubi es, ero. Where you are, I will be, my love--always._

_– Methos_

He closed his eyes for a moment to banish threatening tears, and tried to bury his negative thoughts as well. The letter to Dana was a worst-case scenario. He wasn't conceding the battle by trading himself for MacLeod, just making a strategic decision. If the gamble paid off, Dana would never open the letter.

He checked his watch, and saw that it was almost time to go. He left the two letters on the kitchen table for MacLeod to find. Then put on his coat, hid his sword inside and walked out of the brownstone he had come to call home. So many memories of Dana in this building; it truly was the first place he could truly call a home in a long time. He slipped the key under the mat, went through the exterior door and walked down the steps. Methos looked back once at the old brick building, wondering if he would ever see it again.

~~~~~~~

MacLeod jerked his head as the two pairs of strong arms yanked him out of the trunk. He was still blindfolded, his hands cuffed behind his back and his feet tied tightly together. He knew that Methos was nearby, he could feel him...both his Immortal presence and his emotions. Someone forced him to his knees and he felt a blade against his throat.

He heard Coverdell's voice from behind him. "Drop the blade, Matthew. Drop it or he dies."

Methos' voice rang out loudly. "If he dies, Coverdell, you won't live long enough to enjoy it." MacLeod knew that Methos wouldn't refer to a Quickening because of the mortal stooges that must still be around.

"Adam!" MacLeod shouted. "Don't do it! Get out of here!" He could feel Methos' inner conflict, his hate, and his fear for both of them as the blade pressed against his throat.

"Fine, don't do it," said Coverdell's voice. "I'll enjoy killing him." MacLeod winced as the sword was pulled away, and he felt the air move as the sword was yanked up for the fatal blow.

"Coverdell!" Methos shouted. A few moments later, he felt Methos' internal surrender, and heard the sword clank against the ground.

"Adam! No!" MacLeod yelled again. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was the feel of a boot against his skull.

~~~~~~~

MacLeod arrived back at the brownstone hours later, exhausted and worried. When he had finally regained consciousness, Methos, Coverdell, and his goons were all gone. Breaking his wrists had been required to get out of the handcuffs, and, realizing that he had no money, he had embarked on the long walk back to the brownstone.

He sighed as he mounted the stairs, remembering that the spare key Methos had given him had been in the pocket of the coat he had shed before the two goons shot him. A little checking around proved fruitful, because Methos, ever the master planner, had left the house key under the doormat. MacLeod shook his head. _He left the key under the doormat before going to surrender himself in my place..._

MacLeod unlocked the door, relieved that his coat, with his sword still hidden inside, was still laying across the back of the sofa. He saw the two letters on the table. The first was a folded piece of paper, the second a sealed envelope with "Dana" written across it. MacLeod unfolded the unsealed letter, reading his friend's clear script:

_Mac--_

_I'm sorry that you've been dragged into this, my friend. I wouldn't wish this mess on anyone, especially not you._

_I know that it's personal between you and Coverdell now, but I'm asking you not to come after me, or him. He still wants Dana, he won't be satisfied with just me, I'm sure of it. He wants to hurt her in front of me, like he did with Elisabeth's lover. I'm asking you to keep your promise to me and protect her. That's your first priority. The longer you can keep her out of his hands, the longer I will have to come up with a way to escape, and to defeat him. _

_Please keep the letter for Dana...give it to her if you're certain I won't be coming back. If it all ends here, Mac, I'm glad that we were friends. Even if you are an overgrown Boy Scout._

_M._

_P.S.--You were right about that partner of hers--he'd die to protect her._

MacLeod put down the note. He wasn't surprised by what Methos had done, although Methos was probably surprised at himself. So much for "I didn't last five thousand years by worrying about anybody but myself." _Sorry, my friend,_ he thought,_ but there's no way in hell I'm not coming after you._ But...he had to keep his promise at the same time; he had to protect Dana Scully.

He picked up the phone and dialed a familiar Seacouver number. "Dawson?" He paused, wondering how many times in his life he was destined to repeat the same words. "Joe, I need your help..."


	5. Chapter 5

"What do you mean Adam just turned himself over?" Joe Dawson demanded. "Has he lost his mind?"

"He was trying to protect me, and Dana," Mac answered quietly. The guilt was starting to set in, memories of other friends who had offered their own lives to save his resurfacing with a vengeance.

"MacLeod," Joe barked over the long distance line. "I pulled Coverdell's chronicle. He is one nasty piece of work, Mac. He gets off on pain and torture." _No kidding,_ MacLeod thought. "We don't know much about him until the middle 1700s. He showed up in West Africa, working in the slave trade and then with colonial governments to beat down the locals. He hasn't taken a head in a straight challenge in nearly a century--he cheats. And if there aren't any Immortals around, mortals work just as well to get this guy off. That's why we don't have a Watcher on him." Joe continued.

"Look, Joe...I need anything you have from local Watchers. Maybe he's taken another head since he's been here. He's also got two mortals working with him, muscle for hire, they might be watching Adam's place or Dana's...they could lead right back to Coverdell."

"MacLeod, what the hell do you think we are? And you want me to send _Watchers_ to find _Adam?_ Have you lost your mind too?"

MacLeod was getting edgy; he needed to find Dana Scully and take her someplace safe. "Joe, they aren't going to know that Adam's Immortal. Do you think I like putting more mortals in danger? I have to protect Dana...both for her sake and for Adam's. Look, just find out what you can. Anything. I'll be looking too." He hung up the phone, then picked it up again, pressing a speed-dial number that connected him to a cellular phone. "Dana? This is Duncan MacLeod. I need to see you, right away."

~~~~~~~

Methos awoke, gasping as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. It took a moment for the pain to set in, and he realized that his arms were bound high above his head, his feet dangling, just barely brushing the ground. The room was cold, and poorly lit, like a jail or a warehouse.

He pulled at the ropes tightly binding his hands, but he couldn't get the leverage he needed to break his wrists and wrest himself free. A wash of Immortal presence came over him, and he shivered as Paul Coverdell entered the room.

Coverdell was recognizable to Methos because of his physical appearance, but there was little else of the man that he remembered from the clipper ship _Valiant._ Gone was the geniality, the quiet assurance in his manner. Methos recognized the look in Coverdell's eyes--it was the look of predatory madness he had seen in Kronos and so many others. He followed him with his eyes as Coverdell circled him, assessing his long sought-after prize.

"It's been a long time, Matthew."

"Not nearly long enough, in my ever-so humble opinion."

Coverdell smirked. "I suppose I can't blame you for that." He paused. "No matter. I have plenty else to blame you for."

"She challenged me, Coverdell. What was I supposed to do." Methos didn't particularly expect an answer.

"You were supposed to lose. You were supposed to die. You were definitely not supposed to kill the only woman I've ever loved."

Methos sighed to himself, but didn't respond. Nothing he said would matter anyway.

"And that was only the beginning. You have no idea of what I suffered after that wretched bitch threw me overboard." _Not quite how I remember it,_ Methos thought. "Do you know how many times I drowned? How close I came to being ripped apart by sharks? What I went through when I finally found myself marooned on the coast of West Africa?" Coverdell's anger was growing. Methos knew it wouldn't be long now before whatever he had planned for him began.

Coverdell's voice was rich with centuries-repressed hatred and anger as he continued. "I was discovered by one of the native tribes...they thought I was a mere curiosity, until they found out I couldn't die. Do you know what it's like to be a human sacrifice, over and over and over? To die hundreds of times, by fire, by impalement, by exsanguination?" He circled Methos, his voice bitter. "You stole my life, you and your little whore. You stole the only thing that was important to me, and then stole decades filled with suffering. She paid for it, and now you will pay for it." He banged on the door, and two mortals entered. Methos recognized them from the garage where he had exchanged himself for MacLeod.

Coverdell nodded to them. Methos closed his eyes and steeled himself against the pain to follow as the two men approached him with lead pipes clenched in their hands.

~~~~~~~

Dana Scully fingered the small cross she wore around her neck as she paced the floor of a suite in the Crystal City Marriott. The only thing keeping her from panic as she listened to Duncan MacLeod's story was her instinctive reaction to keep cool and work through the problem.

Duncan watched her pace, attempting to keep his own concern deeply buried and out of his voice and facial expressions. He had picked Dana up from her debriefing at Quantico and took her directly to the Marriott, careful to make sure that he wasn't being followed. He wasn't willing to risk returning to either the brownstone or Dana's apartment, in case either or both were being watched.

"So...this is someone from his past, wanting revenge." Dana's voice was cool and measured.

"Yes." MacLeod was beginning to have difficulty keeping his focus. He knew from his experience on the night he had arrived that he was perceiving Methos' emotions. The good news was that Methos was definitely alive, and probably not far away. The bad news was that the emotions he was feeling were definitely of the extremely unpleasant variety. He took a deep breath, trying to put up some mental barriers to block the sensations. "Dana, we're going to find him. People are already looking. Joe Dawson's people."

She nodded again, crossing her arms across her chest. Her thoughts were interrupted by the chirp of her cellular phone. She went to her bag and fetched it. "Scully," she answered tersely.

"Scully, it's me," said the familiar voice of her partner.

"Hi, Mulder," she said, glancing over at Duncan.

"What's up? You left Quantico in an awful hurry."

She grimaced, not wanting to lie to Mulder, but not seeing any alternative. She attempted evasion instead. "It's personal, Mulder. I probably won't be in for a couple of days."

"Scully, it's not..."

"Mulder, no, I'm fine, okay?"

"Scully, you don't sound fine."

"I'm just tired from all the traveling. It's not my health, honest." She paused a moment. "Mulder...I'll call if I need you. Talk to you soon." She hung up the phone before he could pry any further.

Dana dropped into a chair across from MacLeod, covering her face with one hand. In the time that they had known each other, Methos had been there, solid as granite. Since learning of his Immortality, she had, from that moment on, assumed that he would always be there. He couldn't die, he couldn't leave her like her father or Melissa or Emily. The Game had only intruded upon them once, and Methos had prevailed so quickly that she had never seriously thought about losing him to another Immortal's sword. She had most certainly not considered that she would lose him to a vengeful psychopath like the type she encountered in her work.

"This is a kidnapping. We should call the police and the Bureau," she said quietly.

MacLeod shook his head. "Dana, we can't. This is a part of the Game. Even if we could involve the police and still keep our secret, it's not a mortal affair."

"Is that a good enough reason to let him die? The Bureau can help us find him."

MacLeod crossed over to her and knelt in front of her chair, taking her hands in his. "Dana, he is not going to die. We are going to find him."

"Then what are we doing here? Why aren't we out looking for him?"

He dropped his head and took a deep breath to focus himself, then slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. "Because I can't take the chance that Coverdell will get his hands on you. That's what he wants. That's why Methos is still alive."

"What?"

MacLeod explained, briefly telling her the story of Marguerite and what Coverdell had revealed of his motives during MacLeod's captivity. "Please, trust me on this. The reason that Coverdell hasn't killed Methos yet is because he wants to find you first...I have to stay with you and keep you away from him. I swore to Methos that I would, Dana."

She closed her eyes, recalling the tender sweetness of their night together in Florida. Methos had made love to her so slowly, so deliberately, as if he was trying to imprint every inch of her body into his memory forever...as if it were the last time. He had known that he would have to face Coverdell, and he had kept it from her, tried to spare her the kind of anxiety that she hadn't been able to spare him the next morning when she so easily shrugged into her blue windbreaker and gun holster. Another thought occurred to her, and she looked at MacLeod. "How can you be so sure he's still alive, Duncan?"

MacLeod considered a moment before deciding to tell her, to at least give her the reassurance of knowing that Methos was still alive. "It's not easy to explain, but Methos and I had an experience that...connected us to each other psychically. I can feel him, Dana. Not just the way I sense other Immortals, but I can feel his emotions, and I know he's alive."

She nodded, still trying to contain her emotions, fearful that if she let them out she wouldn't be able to regain control. "Can you tell what he's feeling right now?"

He looked away, loathe to lie to her but refusing to burden her with the complete truth. "He's afraid," he hedged, squeezing her hands to soften the words. "But he's still himself, Dana, he hasn't broken, and he won't, as long as he knows that you're safe."

Slowly, Dana nodded. "I would still feel better if we were doing something...why don't you go looking for awhile. I'm perfectly safe here."

"Dana..."

"Duncan, give me a little credit," she said, a shade irritated. "I am an FBI agent, I do know how to protect myself. They could just as easily shoot you, couldn't they?"

MacLeod considered her point. True, she could take care of herself against the mortal goons, and Coverdell probably wasn't coming after her himself, not while he had Methos. Besides, and more to the point, nobody knew where she was at the moment.

"All right. I'll go to your place and Methos', see if one of the goons is watching for you. Maybe they can lead me back to Coverdell."

~~~~~~~

Methos let his head hang forward, trying to rest. He was alone in the cold, dark room, left to heal and to contemplate what was to come. Wherever Coverdell had learned his trade, he had learned it well. One of the torturer's most effective tools was his victim's own mind, and leaving the victim alone to think about their next session together was a powerful weapon. He breathed deeply, trying to center himself for what was sure to come. He sucked as much air as he could, hurting his still-healing ribs in the process. So far, he was coping with the pain Coverdell had inflicted._ You are alive, _he told himself._ Dana's safe, Mac's alive, and that's all that matters. Bide your time and watch for an opportunity to escape..._

Escape was not going to be easy. Breaking his wrists to slide his hands free of the manacles was out of the question at the moment. His arms were completely numb, thanks to the tight bonds and their position above his head, allowing little blood to circulate to them. _Not that he had a whole lot of blood to spare at the moment, _he thought bitterly. The concrete floor beneath his feet was splattered with it, most of it from the wounds to his belly and thighs that Coverdell himself had inflicted after his friends were finished. The chill in the air was a palpable thing, and Methos shivered as he looked down at his body. He didn't recall when his clothes had been removed, but he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.

A wash of presence rushed over him, and Coverdell entered the room, followed by his two mortal cronies.

Coverdell smiled at him, almost cheerful. "How are we feeling this morning?"

_Morning? Was it really morning? _Methos wanted to know what time it was, how long he had been here, but he wouldn't give Coverdell the satisfaction of asking. He said nothing, dropping his head again.

"My, my, quiet, aren't we?" His captor's voice was smarmy and condescending. "We'll have to work harder to get some noise out of you, then."

Methos saw the dagger in Coverdell's hand only seconds before it plunged into the soft, sensitive flesh of his thigh. He didn't try to resist the pain; he screamed, screamed until his throat ached, and then gasped for breath, trying to push beyond the pain and above it.

"Oh, much better. What a good dress rehearsal."

_Dress rehearsal?_ Methos wondered, still struggling for air. Coverdell nodded to one of the mortals, who left the room.

"Now, if you can do a few more lovely screams like that, we'll have a wonderful show here."

Methos looked up to see the mortal reenter the room, carrying a video camera attached to a tripod. _What the hell..._

"You see, I'm sure your new whore misses you. I thought she might like a...picture postcard."

Methos blanched, all the remaining blood draining from his face as he realized what Coverdell had planned. _Oh, dear God, no...she couldn't see this. _"Coverdell," he rasped, his throat dry. "Please, don't do this...this has nothing to do with her..."

"You're wrong, my dear doctor. It has everything to do with her." He watched as the mortal tinkered with the camera, pointing it at Methos. "She had the misfortune to become involved with the bastard who killed the woman I loved. So she is going to die. And you are going to watch her die."

"You'll never get her," Methos said quietly. "She's protected."

"Yes, I know," he laughed bitterly. "At the moment, I can't even find the bitch. But after she sees this...I think that she will come to me."

_Oh, MacLeod,_ he thought, _please, tie her down, do anything you have to...keep her safe. _He didn't have time to contemplate further, as the red light on the camera blinked on and the pain began again.

~~~~~~~

MacLeod returned hours later, sweeping into the hotel suite like a dark cloud. Dana could immediately tell from the expression on his face that it had not gone well. "Nothing?" she asked.

He shook his head. "If they're watching your place or his I couldn't find them. Nothing from Dawson yet. Everything all right here?"

She nodded as MacLeod sank onto the sofa beside her. "Nothing." She studied him a bit more closely--he looked exhausted. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just tired." He couldn't tell her the truth, couldn't tell her that constantly struggling to block out the depths of horror his friend was experiencing was draining his energy and straining his mind.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep," she suggested.

He nodded. "I'll sleep out here."

She said, "Good night, Duncan."

"Good night, Dana."

She went into the bedroom and closed the door, leaning her forehead against it. She knew perfectly well that neither of them was going to get much sleep that night.

~~~~~~~

Dana emerged from the bedroom before eight the next morning, wrapped in a bathrobe. She had finally dozed off around four in the morning, but her sleep had been restless and filled with nightmares.

MacLeod was already up and dressed, tinkering around at the wet bar. "Morning," he said. "Want some coffee?"

She nodded, taking the mug from him. "Morning...thanks." Dana looked over at MacLeod, deciding that the dark shadows under his eyes indicated that he hadn't had a good night either.

She was right. Unlike Dana, MacLeod had been so exhausted that he had promptly fallen asleep, but he was frequently awakened with rushes of emotion he was certain were coming from Methos. When he did manage to sleep, his friend's torment haunted MacLeod's dreams.

They drank coffee in silence, neither of them particularly anxious to talk, but grateful for the other's understanding presence. During their second mugs, Dana's cell phone chirped impatiently, and she reached for it. "Scully," she answered tonelessly.

"Agent Scully? This is Sarah." She was the administrative assistant shared by a group of agents, including Mulder and Scully.

"Oh, hi Sarah, what's up?"

"There's a package here for you...delivered this morning. It's marked 'personal' and 'extremely urgent.'"

Dana paused a moment. "Did it clear security?"

"Security? Yes, no problems."

"Okay," Dana replied. "Can you leave it at reception for me? A friend of mine is going to pick it up this morning...his name is Duncan MacLeod."

"No problem, Agent Scully. It'll be down there within half an hour."

"Thanks, Sarah." She rang off.

"What's up?" MacLeod asked, sitting beside her on the sofa.

"A package was left for me," Dana replied, her mind running through possibilities that wouldn't connect this package with Coverdell or Methos and rejecting each of them as unlikely. "It may not have anything to do with this, but..."

"Then again, it might. Maybe it's a trap to draw you into the office. I'll go over there and fetch it."

~~~~~~~

Several hours later, Dana Scully stared at the television set, unable to believe the horror that was unfolding before her eyes. Her lover, her love, enduring brutal torture...on videotape, for the sole purpose of tormenting her with the sight of his pain. She could tell that Methos was trying to control his reactions in front of the camera, attempting not to cry out as a whip lashed across his back. Unable to watch a moment longer, she buried her face in her hands.

"Sweet Jaysus," MacLeod said, the brogue in his voice betraying his emotions. He moved to turn off the VCR when a voice on the tape spoke in a clear British accent.

Dana looked at the screen, the sight of Methos battered, bleeding and bruised nearly unbearable. "You can stop this, Dana Scully...meet me today, 6 p.m...." The voice gave an address. "I promise, if you meet me, his torment will end. Come alone, and unarmed." The last thing they heard was Methos screaming "NO!" before the tape ended.

She wanted to cry, wanted to scream out her pain and her frustration, but the tears wouldn't come. _Emotion has no place when there are problems to be solved, decisions to be made, _she heard her father's voice in her head. "I have to go," she said flatly.

"Dana, forget it," MacLeod's voice, unlike hers, was thick with emotion. "If you turn yourself over to him, you are both dead. Methos would never forgive me, and I'd never forgive myself. We have to find another way."

Her mind was working through the options. "Let's...use it as a ruse then, to find out where he is."

MacLeod shook his head. "It won't work. I can't follow you closely enough, Coverdell will sense me."

"We need somebody else to follow me...someone he won't sense."

"Dana," he asked quietly. "What are you thinking."

"I'm thinking that we should call my partner and get some help, Duncan. What other choice do we have?" she asked, exasperated.

"We can't get him involved in this without telling him everything," MacLeod replied.

"What's more valuable...your secret or Methos' life?"

"Dana, it's not my secret to tell, or Methos' either."

"But you've told mortals before, so has Methos."

"Yes," MacLeod answered. "But very few. Less than a dozen in four hundred years. Methos probably hasn't told that many in five thousand. Every time I tell someone, Dana, I take the risk of exposing all of us...which is why I only tell people I love, or feel as close to as family."

"Mulder's like family to me, Duncan."

"I realize that, Dana, but look at who he is," MacLeod replied. "He's a federal agent for the most powerful government in the world, specializing in cases involving the paranormal."

"MacLeod," she said sharply. "So am I."

~~~~~~~

Duncan MacLeod admitted Fox Mulder to the hotel suite shortly thereafter, and the two men exchanged muted greetings. Mulder was somewhat surprised to see MacLeod--he hadn't connected Scully's disappearing act to her lover or his friend, but now he realized that either one or both of them were involved. He also noted that the Scotsman looked much more haggard than the last time they had seen each other.

MacLeod observed the lanky FBI agent as he entered the room, and hoped he had made the right decision. It had taken half an hour of further discussion and persuasion before MacLeod had finally agreed to seek help from Fox Mulder. MacLeod believed Dana when she said that Mulder would keep their secret for her sake, but he also recognized the enormity of the risk they were taking. Exhausted and seeing no other alternative, he finally gave in, although they had agreed not to share Methos' true age or identity with Mulder.

Mulder spotted his partner across the room, staring out the window at the concrete and glass jungle that was Crystal City. "Scully," he said tentatively. She turned towards him, her expression grim. "What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly gravely afraid for her.

The look of concern and compassion on her partner's face was too much for Scully to bear after the events of the past twenty-four hours. She might have stoically learned that her lover was kidnapped; she might have watched without shedding a tear as he was tortured before her eyes; but the emotion in her partner's voice was the last straw. Her voice shook as she gasped out the word, "Mulder," before the tears started falling, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Mulder's fear elevated towards near-panic at Scully's emotional state, but he went to her without another word and wrapped his arms tightly around her small frame. Duncan MacLeod watched quietly from across the room, glad that Dana was finally releasing some of the emotion that had been slowly building inside her.

"Scully," Mulder said quietly, after her sobs had subsided. "What's wrong?"

She wiped her eyes, and led Mulder to the sofa, looking up at MacLeod. "Sit down, Mulder. This is a long story."


	6. Chapter 6

It had taken two hours and two demonstrations with a knife to convince Fox Mulder of the truth and to answer his questions...or some of them, anyway.

Mulder's mind was racing at such a pace that he could barely develop coherent questions. "But how do you know this 'Gathering' is real and not just a legend or something?" Mulder was asking. "Maybe a group of mortals found out about Immortals, a long time ago, and started this idea as a way to get you to destroy yourselves..."

MacLeod dropped his head. He was tired and impatient, and still experiencing intermittent flashes of both emotion and pain from Methos. He was also starting to have serious doubts about the wisdom of this entire exercise. "Look, Agent Mulder," he said as calmly as possible. "This isn't the time for philosophic discussions about the nature of my existence...will you help us rescue Adam or not?"

Mulder looked at Scully, who had been listening to Mulder's interrogation of the Immortal without comment. For the moment, he pushed his questions to the side and focused on his partner; the other implications of MacLeod's story could wait for now. "Yes," he said. "Let's figure out a way to do this without getting my partner killed. I'd like to keep her around awhile longer."

~~~~~~~

Dana Scully arrived at the rendezvous point at precisely six that evening, as the videotaped voice had instructed. She was unarmed, and to any observer it would have appeared that she was alone. The address on the videotape led her to an unoccupied commercial building near the river. Outwardly, she was calm, but her stomach was in knots, and she was as frightened as she had ever been in her life. If their plan didn't work...she was dead, plain and simple. So was Methos.

She was approached several minutes later. "Don't turn around," the gruff voice instructed. "Hands on your head." She complied, and was briefly but thoroughly patted down for weapons. Afterward, the man cuffed her hands behind her back and led her the short distance to his car, where a second man was waiting behind the wheel.

Across the street and halfway down the block, Mulder swallowed the lump in his throat that accompanied the sight of his partner in handcuffs, and started his own car.

~~~~~~~

"Come on, Matthew, unconscious already?" The sarcastic voice asked as its owner waved smelling salts under Methos' nose, causing him to return to full consciousness with a gagging cough. "We've only just gotten started." Coverdell circled him, snapping the lash occasionally for effect.

Methos allowed his head to fall forward, attempting to give himself over to the excruciating burn as the whip stroked across the back of his thighs. He was trying to pull his mind away from his body, to put himself in a mental state where the pain ceased to rule his existence. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep his focus and his determination; more difficult to allow himself submit to the pain without losing his will...and his mind.

A knock on the door distracted Coverdell's attention, and Methos was grateful for the respite and chance to heal, no matter how brief it might be. After a brief conversation with whoever was at the door, he turned again to face Methos with a triumphant smile.

"I think there's someone here you might want to see," Methos' brain didn't have time to process the awful meaning behind those words before one of the mortals pushed Dana Scully into the room ahead of him, holding her arms.

"Adam," she gasped, a bit breathless, as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Her fear that something might go wrong was countered with the pleasure of seeing him alive.

He could only bear to look at her for an instant before he dropped his head. "Oh gods, no," he whispered, his worst nightmare unfolding before his eyes. Despite his dehydration, the tears welled up in his eyes and began to run down his face. _How could MacLeod have failed him like this?_

"Oh yes," Coverdell said. "It's over, Matthew. Soon it will be over for both of you. Why don't you just _think_ about that for a little while."

The goon started to push Dana out of the room, but she turned and said, "Hold fast." Coverdell followed, slamming the door behind him, leaving Methos alone.

The words didn't register with Methos for a moment; his emotions were running too high to consider why she would say 'hold fast' instead of 'I love you' or a similar endearment. After a few seconds, the significance of the words started to dawn on him--the MacLeod family crest. His hopelessness reverted to a burning fear for Dana's life as he considered the message's probable meaning.

~~~~~~~

Dana was roughly pushed back into the large room outside Methos' prison, the fair-haired mortal holding her handcuffed arms. Paul Coverdell circled her the way a shark circles a sea lion, slowly and with purpose. Dana tried to suppress the shiver that went down her spine. _God, what if Mulder had lost them on the way here...what if he and MacLeod had lost touch with each other..._

"Lovely," he murmured softly. "Just perfect. I cannot wait to see your lover's reaction when this beautiful pale skin starts to bruise and blister...when those pretty eyes glaze over with pain."

He was very close to her now, and the intensity of his hatred towards her was a palpable thing. She said nothing as he took her chin in his hand, refusing to meet his eyes. Coverdell continued, "How will he feel when he sees you there, naked, taken as many times as my young friends here can manage?" This elicited low words of approval from the two mortals. She took a deep, long breath, trying not to give Coverdell the satisfaction of her reaction. His hand left her chin, and his index finger started a slow journey down her neck and chest, stopping at the neckline of her blouse. She closed her eyes, no longer able to control her trembling.

Coverdell finally pulled away, satisfied with her fear. He gestured to the two goons. "Take her in there..." He stopped suddenly, looking around. Dana now recognized the look of one Immortal recognizing the presence of another. She drew up her foot and kicked Coverdell sharply in the stomach, and then dropped to the floor and rolled just as Mulder burst through the door with MacLeod right behind him.

"FBI...freeze!" Mulder shouted, more out of habit than anything else. The fair-haired mortal reached for a gun, and Mulder dropped him instantly, followed by the second man who had also reached for his weapon. MacLeod went directly for Coverdell, who had scrambled to his feet. He drew his sword and headed for the door to the room where Methos remained bound and unable to defend himself.

~~~~~~~

Methos' thoughts about Dana and MacLeod were interrupted by the loud retort of gunshots just outside the closed door. His heart leapt into his throat, thinking that Dana might be on the wrong side of the gun. Seconds later, the door burst open and Coverdell entered with a sword, shouting, "Drop it or he loses his head!"

Coverdell didn't reach Methos in time. Two shots hit him in rapid succession, the first to his chest and the second to his shoulder. He slumped to the ground as MacLeod and Fox Mulder entered the room, followed by Dana, her hands still cuffed behind her back.

Methos almost fainted in relief when he saw Dana, alive and unharmed. MacLeod approached him and cut him down from the rafter with his sword. He slumped, unresisting, almost hitting the floor just as the Highlander caught him. MacLeod set him down as gently as he could, resisting the urge to hug his friend, grateful that the old man had, once again, survived.

Mulder had uncuffed Dana, and she moved quickly to Methos' side, her hands cupping his face. MacLeod stood and backed away, giving them space if not privacy. "God, Adam. Are you okay?" She was trembling with a combination of post-traumatic stress and relief. As much as she wanted to reach out to him, she was afraid to touch him, afraid that she might cause more pain.

"No," he rasped. "But I will be, now." His eyes met hers, and emotion surged through him as he recognized the magnitude of the risk she had taken to save his life. Methos reached for her hand and kissed it, their eyes holding each other's gaze for a long moment. Recognizing her reticence to touch his battered body, Methos pulled Dana into a tight embrace, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he pressed against her. He released her after a long moment, and used his fingers to wipe away the tears running down her cheeks.

MacLeod had found Methos' jeans in the corner of the room, and he handed them to the ancient Immortal. "Mac," he began.

At the same moment, Coverdell started to stir, and Mulder put another round into his chest. Despite what MacLeod and Scully had told him, he was still amazed to actually see one of them rise from the dead. He looked down at his partner, still crouched near Adam, extraordinarily grateful that she had survived their scheme to free her lover.

"Scully," he said. She turned to him, and he returned her gun to her. He continued, "I think we'd better check around outside, make sure no cops have turned up because of the noise." It was a poor excuse to give his partner's lover a moment to pull himself together, but Scully nodded, and wiped her face once more. She kissed Methos gently, then released his hand and left the room with Mulder.

After they left, Methos stood, somewhat shakily, the blood returning to his arms. He shook them out, trying to return his circulation to normal. His back had already healed from the lash, but the dehydration, hunger, exhaustion and mental stress would not heal so easily. Methos managed to get his jeans on while MacLeod glared wordlessly at Coverdell, the relief he had felt at the successful rescue slowly morphing into a quiet rage.

~~~~~~~

Scully and Mulder began their reconnaissance of the area surrounding the building. They had circumnavigated almost half of the structure's perimeter before Dana's heart started to race uncontrollably. She holstered her gun and leaned against the wall.

Mulder glanced back over his shoulder and saw his partner standing hunched over, as if trying to catch her breath. He was at her side in moments, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, surprised to find her trembling. "Scully...you okay?" he asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes red. "Mulder...I don't know what I'd have done if he'd died."

Mulder swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to say that he felt the same way about her. "You're a strong person, Scully. You'd have survived." He reached into a pocket and handed her the handkerchief he found. "It doesn't matter, he's okay, right?"

She took the handkerchief gratefully, wiping her eyes. These past few months, since she'd been involved with Methos, had been the first time since she and Mulder had met that either one of them had been involved in a serious relationship. If Mulder resented Methos, or Adam, as he knew her lover, he had kept it to himself, never indicating that the presence of another man in her life bothered him. Dana looked up at him, both with appreciation and a twinge of fear. As soon as they took Methos home, shewould be asking her partner to make a difficult choice--one that might change all three of their lives forever. For now, she merely nodded. "Yeah."

"C'mon..." he put an arm around her shoulder, lending her the same support she had provided him on so many occasions. "Let's see if they're ready to go home."

~~~~~~~

Methos saw the familiar expression on the Highlander's face and took a deep breath, trying to gather his remaining strength. "MacLeod," he said again. "Give me your sword." He paused as MacLeod just stared at him, too stunned to respond. "Don't worry, I won't take his head while he's unconscious, Boy Scout."

His friend ignored the comment, although he was quietly pleased that Methos had the presence of mind to wisecrack. MacLeod had a debt of his own to settle with Coverdell, and even if he hadn't, this fight wasn't worth risking Methos' life. "Methos...you aren't in any shape to fight him. After all of this, you're going to let him kill you?"

Methos smiled wanly. This fight would take everything he could give, but it was something he simply could not walk away from, or leave to MacLeod. "He's not going to kill me, Duncan. It's not about strength, or who's more prepared to fight. It's about passion," he said, evoking the memory of similar words once said under a bridge on a cold, damp Paris night. "At the moment, that is something I have in abundance."

Coverdell had started to stir at their feet. MacLeod gazed at Methos for a moment, then slowly turned his sword lengthwise and handed the hilt to Methos in the ultimate gesture of respect and trust from one Immortal to another. MacLeod took a step back, indicating that he was leaving Coverdell to Methos.

Paul Coverdell awoke to find the sharp edge of the katana at his throat and one very tired yet determined Immortal staring down at him. Methos took a deep breath. _With my shield or on it... _"You have ten seconds to stand and pick up your sword."

~~~~~~~

The fight was well underway when Mulder and Scully returned to the large, empty warehouse outside the room where Methos had been held. The sound of steel clashing was unfamiliar to Mulder, but Dana recognized its meaning instantly and ran to MacLeod's side, which was well out of the way of the combatants.

Dana was stunned, and her fear for Methos' life returned with a vengeance. "Is he crazy? He's in no condition to fight!" Mulder approached them and merely watched, fascinated by the events unfolding before him.

MacLeod shook his head and calmly put his hand on Dana's arm. He wasn't watching the battle; his eyes were closed and he was concentrating as intently as he could, focusing his mind on sending every possible bit of emotional energy and strength to his friend. MacLeod guessed that if strong negative feelings could pass through their empathic link, then perhaps strong positive ones might flow through it as well. After a time he could feel it working; he could feel Methos drawing his strength and combining it with his own.

A few yards away, Coverdell was angry, furious that he had come so close to reaching his goal, only to have it snatched away from him. Methos remained calm and focused, gratefully drawing in the strength MacLeod was projecting. Methos moved slowly, allowing Coverdell's anger to lead him into mistakes. The ancient Immortal fought gracefully with the katana, as if it had been his weapon for years, forcing Coverdell to come to him, to move where Methos wanted him to go. It wasn't long before the Japanese blade found purchase in a broad stroke across his opponent's stomach, forcing him to his knees with a strangled gasp.

Across the room, two mortals released the breath they had been holding since they had come upon the scene. Dana's fingers released the cross hanging around her neck from their nervous grasp. Mulder merely continued to watch, fascinated.

Coverdell looked up at Methos as if to say something, but the ancient Immortal was uninterested. "For Elisabeth," he said quietly, the sentimental words belying the ruthless and cold expression on his face. He lifted the katana high above his head and swiftly down in the unfamiliar forehand stroke, and stepped away as Coverdell's head rolled gracelessly to the concrete floor.

MacLeod opened his eyes again as the Quickening began, feeling Dana beside him, clutching his arm with relief. Mulder's mouth dropped open in stunned silence as the lightening began to flash through the room. Long minutes later, the shocks subsided, and Methos slumped to the ground, unconscious.

~~~~~~~

They arrived back at the brownstone, Methos still barely awake. MacLeod helped him into the bedroom. Dana tried to follow, but MacLeod stopped her.

"Let me help him get cleaned up and settled, okay?" She nodded slowly, aware that MacLeod wanted to let Methos to regain his dignity before she saw him again.

MacLeod entered the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and Dana went to join her partner, who had collapsed onto the sofa.

"Mulder," she said softly. "Thank you."

"I'm glad I could help, Scully," he replied, his mind still reeling from everything he had heard and seen that day. How could any human, mortal or not, survive the violence that was a Quickening?

"Mulder, I have to ask you something."

He nodded, waiting for her to speak.

"Are you going to keep their secret?" Blue eyes met brown ones, looking into his heart and soul as she waited for his response.

"Scully..." he began. "This is the biggest X-File of all time. And we have_ proof_."

She shook her head. "Mulder...unless you take an oath before leaving tonight that you will keep this secret for as long as you live, there won't be any proof."

Mulder looked at her, not understanding. "What?"

"Unless you swear to keep their secret, both MacLeod and Adam will be gone by morning."

His voice hardened slightly. "And you won't back me up, that's what you're saying."

She shook her head again. "No, Mulder, that's not what I'm saying at all. What I'm saying is that if Adam has to disappear because his secret's exposed, I'm going with him."

He blinked twice. "You're what?"

Her voice was very calm. Dana had made this decision months before, when she realized that Methos might have to do a quick disappearing act someday. As long as he would have her, she was going with him. _Where you are, I will be._ The words had begun as a promise from Methos to Dana, but as far as she was concerned, the vow worked both ways. "I'm going with him if he has to disappear, Mulder."

"You'd give up your life, your career, your family?" Her partner's voice was vaguely incredulous.

The thought of her mother and brother made her close her eyes briefly, but she opened them again to meet his gaze. "Yes. If I have to." _Please don't force me to make this choice, Mulder._

Fox Mulder was left with a choice of his own. Even without MacLeod, Pierson, or Scully's confirmation, he now knew enough to reveal that Immortals existed if he chose to do so. Solid investigative work would, in time, produce proof, and Scully, despite her words, knew that. Revealing that Immortals existed could be the vindication he had been searching for his entire career--at long last, proof of intelligent, non-human life. Not alien, perhaps, but not human either. He had been searching for such proof his entire career...no, for his entire life, since the night Samantha had disappeared.

On the other hand, revealing Immortals might well destroy them. Did he want to be the catalyst for genocide? What would the governments of the world do when they discovered the existence of men and women who cannot die? They would be hunted like animals, experimented upon, used in whatever manner those governments deemed appropriate.

Mentally, he shrugged. While the philosophical questions might be interesting, the real issue as far as he was concerned was one very human female named Dana Katherine Scully. His partner, and a woman who was sacred to him. Their bond was too deep, too special, and meant too much to him. Fox Mulder would never intentionally do anything to hurt her, and she, for better or for worse, was in love with an Immortal.

He looked up at Scully. "I swear, Dana. Their secret is safe with me."

She swallowed, her relief a tangible thing. Not only because she would not have to sacrifice her life to be with Methos, but because she knew what the decision meant to Mulder and why he had made it. "Thank you, Mulder."

~~~~~~~

MacLeod helped Methos to undress and clean up, assisting him into the shower after tossing his soiled clothes into the corner of the room. Methos was conscious and coherent, but clearly exhausted. The fight and the Quickening had sapped what little energy he had left.

Methos was unresisting as MacLeod dried him off and helped him into a pair of clean sweats. Finally, MacLeod pulled back the covers and put Methos in bed, returning to the bathroom for a glass of water. Sitting on the side of the bed, MacLeod slipped an arm behind the older man's neck, propping him up while he sipped the water. The ancient Immortal looked at his friend. "MacLeod..." he rasped, his throat still dry.

"Shhh." MacLeod quieted him before returning the glass to Methos' lips for another sip. He took the envelope with 'Dana' written across the front from his coat pocket, and laid it on the bedside table. "I'm glad that I don't have to deliver this, my friend."

"MacLeod...Duncan..."

MacLeod shook his head. "Later. Whatever you have to say will keep. Get some rest." He smiled at this enigmatic man, this man he would never fully understand, this man who was a part of him. "Live, Methos. Grow stronger. Fight another day."

His friend's lips curved in a knowing smile, and he nodded his head ever so slightly at MacLeod before closing his eyes.

~~~~~~~

An hour later, Dana slipped into the dimly lit bedroom. She didn't want to disturb Methos, but her desire to reassure herself of his well-being was irresistible. After restating his promise to Duncan MacLeod, Mulder had kissed her on the cheek and gone home. MacLeod was torn between staying the night in the guest room in case he was needed, and his desire to give Methos and Dana some privacy. Finally, he had returned to the suite in Crystal City after eliciting a promise from Dana to call instantly if she needed him.

Dana approached the bed quietly, listening to her lover's labored breathing. She was about to sit beside him when she saw the crumpled envelope on the bedside table. Curious, she picked it up, and walked over to the lamp in the corner of the room, quietly lifting the corner of the envelope.

"Dana..." his voice was still raspy with fatigue. Immortal healing was powerful, but not powerful enough to replace all the blood he had lost so quickly; nor powerful enough to heal the emotional and psychological wounds Coverdell had inflicted in the last two days. "Dana, I'm so sorry, I never meant to drag you into this." He felt tears threaten, and quickly took a deep breath to bring himself under control. "You could have been killed."

"But I wasn't killed. I'm fine." She wrapped her arms around him tightly, tucking his head underneath her chin. "As a matter of fact, I'm better than you are at the moment." He looked up at her with a faint smile. "Being together doesn't mean that you're going to protect and take care of me, Methos. I can look after myself, and sometimes I can even look after you." Her voice was soft but firm and full of conviction.

He shook his head soberly. "It's different when Immortals are involved, Dana."

"Is it, Methos? Do you know how many times Mulder and I have been used against one another? It's not that different. Either we stand together, or we don't. And I will stand by you, because I want to."

Methos leaned against her, allowing her comforting warmth to seep into his body. On one level, she was right, but on another, could she really ever understand the high-stakes, life and death game played by him and his kind?

And yet, the decision was hers. She was a grown woman with intimate knowledge of the risks involved, and she had decided to stay with him, to be with him. He knew it was selfish, but despite his fatigue he was overjoyed, and nearly overwhelmed with love for her. Dana had made her choice: she chose passion over predictability, risk over safety. She had decided to be vulnerable; she had decided to love.

Eventually the waning moon rose, and its ghostly light seeped through the curtains, creating white shadows that slowly lengthened across the room. Methos and Dana entwined themselves together, each simply basking in the other's presence. No words were spoken; none were needed.

_Where you are, I will be._

~~ the end ~~

_Posted on March_ _10, 1998_


End file.
